


Inconvenient

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, M/M, Regency Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, all the sex, angst because of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 69,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25381738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: England, April 1815. Hannibal Lecter, the third Earl of Raven, gets more than he bargained for when accepting a bet from a desperate man leads to him being saddled with the man's dilapidated estate - and son. Will Graham is eighteen, hot-headed, and unnervingly intriguing. As for Will, the idea of having to spend time with the person whom he holds responsible for his father's untimely death is anathema. And yet, when circumstances leave him with no other choice, he is forced to adapt. It does not help matters that Hannibal Lecter is most annoyingly attractive...In my Regency 'verse, the homophobia that Will and Hannibal would have been faced with in reality simply does not exist. Love and marriage are available to all, regardless of gender. After all, as a dear Fannibal (inameitlater) said to me when I started writing this, 'We need to dream of better worlds.'The STUNNING cover art is by the staggeringly talentedcallmenephilia. Thank you, dearest!
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1140
Kudos: 1189





	1. Chapter 1

**INCONVENIENT**

The single advantage of attending one of Lord Shriver’s private soirees was that in the louche and decadent red-swathed surroundings of the viscount’s Mayfair gambling den, there was no chance of happening across the usual clutch of mothers desperate to rid themselves of their enchanting offspring.

In every other respect, it was an increasingly wearisome monthly charade. So mused Hannibal Lecter, as he sipped at his host’s mediocre wine and fixed his eyes on his cards. Pretending to pit himself against challenger after challenger; pretending not to notice the desperation in their eyes and the greedy set of their mouths as they piled failure upon failure in refusal to relinquish that final, fatal sliver of hope; pretending that they were any sort of _challenge_ at all.

His eyes flicked to the latest hopeful - pale and sweating - who, fuelled by drink and opium, had almost spat his wish to be the one to finally break ‘ _Lord Raven’s almost inhuman winning streak_ ’ of thirteen months.

‘After all,’ the man had sneered, pushing back lank grey hair and wiping the sheen of moisture from his brow with an unsteady hand as he had lowered himself into the chair vacated only moments before by his cursing predecessor, ‘thirteen carries with it the stigma of misfortune.’

‘Though not necessarily for me,’ Hannibal had warned.

And that had been his one and _only_ warning. For those who were invited to such evenings were no novices at these games. If they had been, Hannibal would have declined to play against them. Not for him the easy victory of experience over experimentation. Or, at least, not for the kinds of stakes that only the highest and most competitive in society played for.

He had observed this particular man on many a previous occasion. Beaumont Graham, 1st Baron Wolf: whose title, it was rumoured, had been bestowed on him by King George as payment for his silence after a particularly torrid night of gambling involving the Prince of Wales. Given that Graham’s usual aesthetic involved a drink clutched tightly in his hand and a reckless glint in his eye, this kind of sordid connection was hardly surprising.

Hannibal’s eyes flicked once to his companion and then returned to his cards. Vingt-et-un had been the baron’s game of choice. Hannibal had proposed piquet, which required at least some degree of skill, but his opponent had been adamant.

‘This way, we are evenly matched.’

The pathetic fellow had even seemed to believe it.

The chime of one reminded Hannibal that he had lingered in this distasteful place of smoke and perspiration for far too long. ‘I shall stand.’

Lord Wolf darted a glance at the cards in Hannibal’s hand; and with an indecisive drum of fingernails on the lacquered table, rapped out, ‘I too shall stand. No, wait. Dealer, another card.’

The dealer hesitated, looking between them. Hannibal remained silent, his only wish now to bring this tiresome evening to a close. Almost snatching the proffered card from the young employee, Lord Wolf added it to his hand of four, counted silently, and shot Hannibal a triumphant smile that did not reach bloodshot eyes that could once, perhaps, have been called grey-blue.

‘ _Now_ I shall stand.’

‘Very well.’ Hannibal threw back the remainder of his drink and set down the empty goblet with a decisive thud. ‘You first, Lord Wolf.’

‘One moment.’ The older man’s eyes were covetous, no doubt mentally calculating the amount of coin piled up beside Hannibal, the result of half a dozen wins in as many hours. ‘What say you to winner takes all?’

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. ‘That would be most irregular.’ Not to mention unfair, given the paltry sum that the baron himself was guarding. He did not give voice to this thought, but in the next instant his opponent drew from his pocket a rolled-up document and slapped it on the table between them.

‘The deeds to my estate,’ he declared, his feverish excitement tainting the air. ‘Irregular, perhaps, but worth it, Lord Raven, would not you say?’

Hannibal curled his lip. ‘You would risk your birthright?’

He thought of Raven House, his family home, that gracious red-bricked edifice in Cambridgeshire which, after the accident that had carried away his parents and sister, had been both his refuge and his torment. Of course, as heir, Hannibal was free to do with the estate as he wished. But never, even in his darkest of days, had he countenanced selling the place, let alone risking it in some foolhardy venture.

Lord Wolf, it seemed, had no such qualms. On the contrary, to have been carrying around such documents suggested a mind bent already on self-ruination.

‘That is my affair. I would have your answer, sir.’

The man’s rudeness grated on Hannibal like dissonant notes in a symphony. How to respond? He plucked from one of the stacks a guinea and flipped it neatly with his thumb. There it went, a flash of gold streaking upwards and then tumbling back down, until he caught it smartly and slapped it onto the back of his hand.

_Tails, I walk away._

He uncovered the coin. _Heads_. A slow blink and his lips curved into a smile that had, on more than one occasion, been compared to that of a shark. ‘So be it, Lord Wolf. Winner takes all.’

‘He certainly does.’ The baron laid out a hand of twenty-one, shooting him a look of triumph as he placed the last card. ‘See?’

Jack of Spades, Seven of Diamonds, Three of Clubs, Ace of Clubs. Entirely predictable. No one, no matter how inebriated or wretched, would risk their family estate on anything less than the strongest chance of success. Yet a chance of conquest allowed still a chance of failure...

Unsurprising was the moan of displeasure and despair that was wrenched from Lord Wolf as, without flourish, Hannibal laid down his own cards: King of Hearts and Ace of Diamonds.

But when his beaten opponent started up from his chair, hand flying to his throat, face purpling visibly, Hannibal was very much surprised - even disconcerted.

‘Fetch a doctor,’ he rapped out to the startled dealer, who nodded and ran, stumbling, from the room. In another instant, Hannibal was beside the swaying man, easing him down to a prone position on the floor. ‘Damn fool,’ he snarled, fingers working quickly to untie the man’s restrictive neckcloth. ‘If your wish was for an early grave, there are far easier ways of achieving it.’

But there was no response from the object of his wrath; and a moment later, Hannibal ceased his ministrations, rising to look down at the pitiful figure who lay now as cold as the marble tile at his back.

Lord Wolf was dead.

***

‘Long live Lord Wolf.’

‘Will!’

In the dull glow of firelight, it was easy to hide. Hide his face, hide his torment. Even from his truest and most steadfast of friends. With his back to the darkness that shrouded the room, interrupted only by feeble pin-pricks of candlelight, Will Graham stared down the flickering flames.

‘Would you prefer that I express my _true_ feelings? Tell me, Margot, what are yours?’

‘Mine?’ In a voice as bewildered as he had ever heard it, ‘I can hardly believe it. I thought it at first a cruel joke.’

‘Did you? Strange. I feel as if I have been waiting for this day for six years, ever since Percy -’

‘Oh, Will.’

He flinched from the hand that reached for him in sympathy, and shot its owner a warning look. ‘No, Margot. I shall not be a hypocrite and pretend sorrow at _this_.’

Green eyes regarded him soberly. ‘That will raise speculation at the funeral.’

‘You assume that I shall be attending.’ He turned away to gaze again into the crackling pit. One hand out, pressed against the stone hearth, the other clenched into a fist at his side. ‘You assume that _anyone_ shall.’

‘Of course you shall. You know the true meaning of duty and honour, even if - forgive me - your father did not. And all those who care for you will be there.’

‘A list that grows shorter and shorter.’

This time, Will allowed the gentle touch on his arm. ‘But also one that is full of love. And even your father was not without friends. Papa, for one, will insist upon our going. You know how close they were.’

‘As thick as thieves. And just as dishonourable.’

Margot’s silence was marked. He glanced at her, an apology in his eyes. ‘Pay me no mind. I am not fit company tonight.’

Still, she returned his gaze steadily. Eternally compassionate, wholly without judgement. Somehow, that made it all the worse. ‘Nevertheless, you are quite correct. Neither one was capable of self-restraint. Yet somehow your father’s negative traits never tainted you or Percy. As for Papa... I would I could say that _his_ influence extended no further than himself.’

‘Hmph. And how is your brother?’

Margot shrugged, the motion too brittle to be natural. ‘Mason is, unfortunately, entirely himself. But he will be returning soon to Oxford.’

Will’s jaw clenched. ‘You should not have to endure him. Or your father. If I were not shortly to be made homeless, I would keep you here with me.’

‘Homeless?’ Margot stared at him, the sudden pallor of her complexion all the starker against ebony ringlets pinned tightly at her temples. ‘Will, that is ridiculous. Wolf Hall is your legacy. You are the 2nd Baron Wolf!’

‘I am _nothing_ ,’ flashed Will. ‘Until I am one-and-twenty, I might as well be a servant below-stairs for all the power I possess.’

‘You truly believe that the new owner will throw you out? Leave you to fend for yourself and allow you to inherit an empty title?’ Margot looked at him, aghast.

Will’s smile contained nothing of humour. ‘Why not? The land and the title are not inseparable. Besides, I would say that a man who accepts foolhardy bets from dying landowners is hardly likely to concern himself with the wellbeing of their progeny.’

‘Will, what exactly did happen? Papa has been so vague about it all.’

He sighed. ‘To speak truth, I am not entirely sure. According to the solicitor, Papa had been hard at cards for hours, losing more and more until he must, I suppose, have grown desperate.’

‘And the shock of losing Wolf Hall brought on the fatal apoplexy?’

Swallowing harshly, Will nodded. ‘Thank the gods I shall have my trust. Once I reach majority, it should be enough for me to live on. It is only a small inheritance, but my needs are not lavish.’

‘Goodness knows I can attest to that.’ The fondness of Margot’s smile brought a lump to Will’s throat. ‘But that shall not be for another three years, Will!’

‘Only a little over two. Or have you forgotten that it is almost my birthday?’

‘Not exactly.’ She gave him a reproving look. ‘Clear thinking is no easy feat with news such as this to contend with.’

‘Dear Papa.’ Will kicked aside an errant coal. ‘He was ever a man of impeccable timing.’

Shaking her head, Margot returned to the Grecian couch that had been the favourite of Will’s mother before she had succumbed to consumption when Will had been but three years old. Silk faded now from cyan to almost-white in places. The ghost-marks of Liliana Graham.

‘I only pray that you are wrong about this man - this Lord Raven - and that he will seek to make reparation for what has happened to you.’

Pity from anyone else would have been intolerable. But from Margot Verger, who knew more of family troubles than any girl of seventeen should, it was rather a shared understanding. Still...

‘Pray?’ A bitter laugh spilled from his lips. Another coal fell from the grate, and he ground it beneath the heel of his boot. ‘You had rather save your breath to cool your porridge. That, at least, would be a useful exercise.’

‘What else am I to do?’ Margot’s tone was subdued, her head bowed. ‘I may rail against the shortcomings of my family, but still I wear the French silk that Papa’s lifestyle has made possible. I live in his house and dine nightly at his table. I ornament his parties and play the hostess to his guests. Grant me at least the appearance of contrition.’

Anger fading like cooling embers, Will rubbed a weary hand across his face. ‘If it gives you solace, then by all means, Margot. Pray to your heart’s content. I, however, intend to shift for myself.’

At this, Margot looked up. ‘You will fight this?’

‘Not in the way that you might think.’ Dourly, he admitted, ‘Since the estate was Papa’s to dispose of as he saw fit, Mr Brauer has advised me against contesting. Besides,’ he laughed hollowly, ‘that kind of resistance requires money. And until I come into my inheritance, I shall have none.’

‘Then - what kind of resistance do you mean to offer?’

Will’s smile was not pleasant. ‘Lord Raven, who sounds eighty if he is a day, is shortly to be conveyed north to inspect his prize. Before he sends me packing I intend, my dear Margot, to give the old tyrant as much trouble as I can.’

***

‘You are not eighty.’

The source of the flat, accusing voice was at first difficult to place. Not another soul occupied the cobbled courtyard, save for the red-faced porter who was making rather a performance of lugging Hannibal’s trunk up a short flight of half-worn steps to what was presumably the front door. Hannibal clicked his fingers, and a footman jumped from the back of the carriage to aid the sweating man.

‘Impressive. Do you use that trick on your dogs as well, or do you save it for the people who work for you?’

There it was again. A young voice, not quite that of a child, but with a lilting quality that time had yet to smooth down. Hannibal waited until the servants had disappeared from view, then tilted his head and shaded his eyes against the low glare of spring sunshine. An open casement high up to his right drew the fullness of his attention, but still his sharp gaze could not locate whoever had addressed him so mockingly.

‘I am neither eighty nor a dog owner,’ he stated dryly. ‘I am, however, at something of a disadvantage. Perhaps you would care to come down to ground level?’

A stark silence followed. Temper rising, Hannibal turned to address his driver. ‘Bernard, take the carriage round to the stables and see to the horses.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

The creak of wood and clatter of hooves died away, leaving Hannibal to ponder the wisdom of his decision to handle the tiresome matter in person rather than leaving the task to his steward. This rambling melting pot of medieval and Tudor architecture was handsome enough, but even a cursory glance betrayed loose tiles, detached guttering, and a half dozen other details that betrayed its late owner’s woeful neglect. It was hardly worthy of two days’ travel and the abandonment of his own affairs.

‘My name is Will Graham.’

The voice was softened now by proximity. Hannibal half-closed his eyes, savouring its cadence, testing the shape of each vowel, the curve of every consonant. It was pleasing. Calculatedly? He turned slowly towards the open doorway, prepared to be confronted by coltish awkwardness, and paused. For the fey creature framed with ridiculous ostentation by a tangle of climbing roses, hands planted firmly on narrow hips in a brave show of confrontation, defied any simplistic description. Chaotic? Such a word could certainly be applied to the mass of dark curls framing a face of almost cherubic beauty, not to mention the interesting spread of colour across apple-round cheeks. Wild? Perhaps, if the narrowing of storm-grey eyes was any indication. And yet the grace with which the boy held himself, almost regal in his mourning clothes of black tailcoat and breeches, belied any notion of gaucheness.

‘I take it that I am addressing Lord Raven.’

Annoyed to have been caught yet again at a disadvantage, Hannibal gave a curt nod. ‘You are. I take that you know why I am here.’

‘I do.’

A close member of the family, then. ‘And as it has been a long and tiring journey, I should like to proceed without further delay.’

‘Is that so? Proceed, you say? To do what, exactly?’ No softness now, the words punctuating a glare that Hannibal supposed was meant to be quelling.

He looked past the boy, impatience testing his usually impeccable manners, but could see no movement within the shadowed entryway.

‘Where is Lord Wolf? Has he been informed of my arrival?’

The rosiness of the boy’s cheeks faded to chalk. ‘Have you no shame?’

‘This was not a situation of my making.’ No longer bothering to disguise the snap in his voice. ‘Nor is it any of your concern, Master Graham.’

‘ _Mr_ Graham. I am almost nineteen, sir.’

It took all of his self-possession to hold back a derisive snort.

‘Even so. My appointment is with Lord Wolf.’

And there - the boy was back to staring at him again. ‘Are you truly this cruel, or merely deranged?’

‘For the love of the gods, what are you talking about?’

Ridiculous. Arguing on a doorstep with an angry man-child. Patience exhausted, Hannibal started forward, intending to set aside the seething obstacle bodily if necessary.

‘We _buried_ my father yesterday.’

Plucking from that accusing statement two rather vital facts, Hannibal slowed, stopping at the foot of the steps.

‘My condolences.’ And if the words came out rather stiffly, where was the surprise? ‘But surely you must realise that the Lord Wolf of whom I speak is the _second_ baron. Your elder brother, I presume.’

‘My brother. Percival.’ The anger had died again, to be replaced by the original flatness.

Was the boy on a perpetual wheel of negative emotion?

‘Just so. Your father often spoke of him when in company.’ Drunkenly, with tiresome regularity, his ramblings aimed at no one in particular. ‘He fought in the Peninsular War.’

A peculiar smile twisted the boy’s mouth, and Hannibal had the absurd urge to protest against the abuse of that perfect bow.

‘Percy _died_ in the Peninsular War.’

Hannibal Lecter, third Earl of Raven, was decidedly not eighty. Neither, it had to be said, was he in the first flush of youth. Beneath the brim of his high crowned hat, lines fanned from the corners of his eyes, and a hint of silver glinted in the ash sweep of his hair. But the contours of his face were sharp, angular; his eyes redwood-brown, alert with intelligence; his figure firm, tall and vital.

His manner patronising, high-handed, arrogant.

But it seemed that at last Will had silenced him. Coming to a swift decision, he stepped to one side and indicated with a sweep of his arm the open doorway.

‘You had better come in.’

***

‘It was six years and a half ago. I was twelve, Percy two-and-twenty. He was buried out in Portugal.’

Will stirred his tea, painfully aware of all the shortcomings of his beloved home that Lord Raven was surely cataloguing, one keen glance at a time.

‘I see.’ No more forced platitudes. And all the better for it.

It was time, Will decided, for frankness. ‘What do you see, my lord?’

The man sitting across from him, booted ankles crossed, sipped from his cup as if perfectly at ease, before at length replying.

‘Your father had, as is often the case, a favourite child. After his death, the needs of the estate ranked a poor second to his need for distraction.’

‘You forgot to mention the poor, neglected second child, who resented the memory of his elder brother terribly.’

‘I did not.’ At Will’s raised brows, Lord Raven continued, ‘I did not mention it because it is not so. You appear to me to be neither poor nor neglected.’ He gestured with one slim-fingered hand. ‘The cut of your clothes suggests that you have use of a tailor, not an inexpensive service; your frame is robust, if slender, and your complexion is healthy.’

‘And my brother?’ Fighting down a self-conscious blush.

‘You referred to him by a diminutive, which indicates affection, and you measured his passing in months as well as years, which tells me that -’

‘I miss him,’ murmured Will, a pang catching him unawares, dampening his lashes. He blinked impatiently. ‘You are very astute, Lord Raven.’ His voice hardened. ‘Except for the fact that you came here assuming that you would be dealing with my brother.’

‘An oversight that I shall be discussing shortly with my lawyer.’

Whoever this lawyer was, Will could not help but pity him, judging by the implacability of Lord Raven’s tone. That did not, however, alter the present situation.

‘Nevertheless, you are here now.’

‘I am.’

The eyes that looked into Will were discomfiting in their intensity. He shifted in his chair, dropping his gaze to the inky surface of his tea.

‘Am I allowed to know with what intention?’

‘My intentions, it seems, require adaptation,’ replied Lord Raven thoughtfully.

This was hardly encouraging. ‘Could you please be a little less enigmatic?’

Sculpted lips thinned in displeasure. ‘You will, perhaps, allow me a moment. I did not anticipate this.’

Useless words of recrimination threatened to burst from Will’s lips. He thrust them down. ‘Expectations aside, the fact remains that you are now in possession of my home.’ Home. Estate. Birthright. But what was that to such a man? ‘So you must forgive me for showing an interest.’

Setting aside his cup, Lord Raven steepled his fingers beneath his chin. ‘Interest or interrogation?’

‘Interest,’ snapped Will, Lord Raven’s disparaging gaze bringing warmth again to his cheeks. ‘The estate, I know, is in some need of repair, but our farms -’

‘Are struggling. I have seen the books.’

‘How odd that you are so well-informed in some areas, while entirely lacking in others.’

Lord Raven’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you always allow your emotions to rule your tongue, Mr Graham?’

Abandoning his own cup, Will folded his arms across his chest. ‘Is not that called being honest?’

And he felt riled almost beyond measure by his guest’s mocking response. ‘I would call it being young.’

‘I told you before, I am almost nineteen. Not a child,’ he insisted heatedly. ‘Whatever plans you have for Wolf Hall, it is my right to -’

‘No.’

Will flinched. Such intractability was hard to deal with. Still, he could not help but try again.

‘With investment in new machinery, the revenue from the farms would soon -’

‘I am not prepared to discuss the matter with you.’ Lord Raven’s relentless amber gaze pinned Will in his seat. ‘Not at this time. Perhaps not at all. My own steward will come north to conduct a thorough appraisal of the estate, and his opinions alone shall influence me.’

The coldness of these declarations stole Will’s breath. He sat very still, the implications of his worst fears possibly being realised almost too terrible to digest.

‘I see.’ He forced his trembling voice to calmness. ‘And where, may I ask, does that leave me?’

Lord Raven’s gaze was almost brooding. ‘As to that, I see little alternative. Until you reach your majority, I shall take you as my ward.’


	2. Chapter 2

‘‘ _I shall take you_ ,’ he said. Take me! As if I were a parcel or a - a dog.’ The nicker of his mount, a comical sound that more than one person had likened to a human laugh, prompted Will to temper his exclamations, and he leaned forward to pat the grey’s neck with soothing strokes. ‘There, Nola. Easy, girl.’ Straightening in his seat, he scanned the area with regretful eyes, the crest of Bal Tor providing a vantage point that laid before them the full breadth of the estate. Brown fields interlaced by snaking waterways, fringed by wooded clusters; the skeletal shapes of trees filling out with the first blooms of spring; farm buildings squat in the dips and hollows. Almost to himself, he murmured the same words that had spilled from his lips the afternoon before, in response to Hannibal Lecter’s startling pronouncement. ‘This is all that I have ever known.’ 

_‘Time, then, to broaden your horizons.’ No trace either of pity or cruelty in eyes of smoky amber. Perhaps a mild curiosity._

_Torn between accepting the offer for the lifeline it undoubtedly was, and spitting a refusal straight into that noble face, Will chewed on his lower lip and remained silent as his mind parsed his limited options. Even were he to sell every one of his personal possessions, brutal honesty had him recoiling from the prospect of a life of poverty. The Vergers might take him in if Margot were to plead his case, but the idea of occupying the same space as Molson and Mason for more than a few hours filled him with revulsion. He had no intention, however, of capitulating quite so easily to his arrogant guest._

_‘Were I to agree,’ he said pointedly at last, ‘what would happen next?’_

_There was the tiniest shift of expression, the merest hint of relaxation. ‘We would leave for London, preferably by the end of the week.’_

_‘So soon?’ Will fought down a bubble of panic._

_‘Given the circumstances, there is little for me to do here. I shall meet with my lawyer at the earliest opportunity and set things in motion. My steward is perfectly capable of handling the rest.’_

_How convenient to be so devoid of material cares; how enviable the ability to set aside empathy for practicality. Swallowing his anguish, Will asked, ‘Why London? Is not Raven House in Cambridgeshire?’_

_‘Yes, but during the Season I reside in Westminster. One thing more,’ Lord Raven said, his demeanour of impassivity provoking Will more every moment. ‘The Duke of Balmore knows of my travels north and has sent word for me to dine with him tomorrow. I should like you to accompany me. The journey will give us an opportunity to talk.’_

_After a long pause, during which the earl’s eyes narrowed fractionally, Will replied, ‘Balmore House is a good half hour’s ride. In this weather, it would be best to go by carriage.’_

_‘Then by carriage we shall go,’ said Lord Raven, all self-possession once again._

From behind the lace veil of Margot’s riding hat, concerned eyes were trained on him. Plum skirts billowing in the fresh spring breeze, she turned her horse to draw parallel to Will’s. ‘I know how much this must grieve you, but if you agree to his terms then at least you will be taken care of until you come of age.’

‘How much of _care_ there will be has yet to be seen,’ huffed Will. ‘Still, the news is not all bleak. My inheritance is safely under the direction of Mr Brauer. He alone has the power to direct the funds - so guardian or not, Lord Raven will never be able to touch a penny of it.’ 

‘I should like to meet this Lord Raven.’ Margot’s tone took on a lilt of curiosity. ‘What is he like?’

‘Not eighty,’ replied Will dryly. And, at his friend’s prompting look. ‘High-handed. Insufferable. Self-satisfied.’ _Discomfitingly handsome._

‘He is an earl,’ reminded Margot. ‘Insufferability will have been bred into him. Where is he now?’

‘I have no idea.’ 

‘You have not seen him yet today?’

‘Not since we parted last night.’ A small smile hovered on Will’s lips. ‘I had him installed in the Blue Room.’

‘Will,’ admonished Margot. ‘Honestly, you are dreadful. Has the roof even been mended since the last storm?’

‘I patched it with straw myself.’ And, at Margot’s reproving look. ‘I knew that it was not likely to rain last night.’

‘Nor was it likely to be much above freezing. And he is from the south.’

‘I daresay he survived the ordeal,’ was Will’s throwaway line, as he urged the mare on to a trot. ‘Come, let us race to the brook for old time’s sake.’

Saying goodbye to his best friend was not something that Will had any intention of doing before the hawkish gaze of Hannibal Lecter. He escorted Margot back to the boundary that separated their two estates; and when they had dismounted, she embraced him as if she intended never to relinquish her hold.

‘If you do agree to be his ward, does he intend to take you back to his estate in Cambridgeshire?’ she sniffed dolefully.

‘Not immediately.’ Will gave her one final squeeze, then began a gentle withdrawal. ‘He has a house in London. We would stay there for the Season.’

‘Oh, then I would see you after all!’ And Margot smiled excitedly through drying tears. ‘Papa intends to take us all up to London for Easter. And afterwards, we shall stay in town while Mason returns to Oxford.’

‘I never cared for London.’ Will’s jaw set. ‘And if Papa had frequented it less, none of this might now be happening.’

‘But it is.’ Ever tender, ever blunt. ‘And I am selfish enough to wish that you would put aside your pride, Will Graham, that your future might be no longer in jeopardy, and that I might be able to sleep again without worrying about you!’

‘I promise to give it serious thought.’ Meekly, Will peeped at her from beneath his lashes. ‘Forgive me?’

‘Oh, Will!’ she laughed, swatting him. ‘Heavens help anyone who tries to resist that look!’

It was certainly not a look which he intended to waste on his officious would-be guardian. Not even when he trudged back into the courtyard after settling Nola into her stall, and found the earl standing by his carriage, face thunderous.

‘Is it time to leave already?’ Pitching the question with deliberate insouciance, he watched with satisfaction the tightening of autocratic features.

‘It was time to leave an hour since,’ growled Lord Raven. He lifted one gloved hand, and dangled from it a gold pocket watch. Will fancied that he spotted an engraving on the back, but it was snatched up again before he could be certain. ‘Where the devil have you been, to arrive back in such a state?’

Will lifted a hand to swipe half-heartedly at his face. ‘I was riding, my lord. A certain amount of dirt is to be expected. Or do not you have mud in Cambridgeshire?’

‘Certainly,’ came the clipped response. ‘Generally, however, we ride over it.’ HIs gaze flicked over Will. ‘You appear to have rolled in it.’

Will withheld a snort at this gross exaggeration. ‘Give me twenty minutes, my lord, and I shall be presentable enough to satisfy even southern standards.’

‘I give you _ten_ minutes,’ replied Lord Raven shortly. ‘Your valet prepared a bath for you two hours ago. Cold or not, I expect you to avail yourself of it.’

‘Yes, my lord. Right away, my lord.’

Hannibal turned his eyes to the heavens and his back to the boy who sauntered past as if he were not wilfully keeping his guest cooling his heels. Not to mention the person they were going to visit, who happened to be one of the foremost peers in the land. Of course, Jack would be the very last person to take umbrage, but Hannibal felt the slight on his friend’s behalf. It was one more example of William Graham’s atrocious manners. First there had been that undignified heckling in the courtyard, followed by his failure to make an appearance at supper in the ill-lit dining room. After an unremarkable meal, Hannibal had been directed to a chamber that, as it turned out, would have been more suitable as a meat larder than sleeping quarters. And now this latest infraction. The boy really had been left to run wild. Cursing beneath his breath, he again consulted his pocket watch, of half a mind to go in and drag the brat out by his ridiculous curls, should he take even one minute over his allotted ten.

Hannibal was surprised - and slightly piqued - when, after precisely nine minutes had elapsed, William Graham fairly bounded down the steps, face scrubbed and shining, mud-spattered clothing swapped for clean, only the less-than-perfect knot of his cravat and loose fit of his tailcoat betraying his haste. He marched straight past Hannibal to the open door of the carriage, a large leather-bound book tucked under his arm, fingers busy at buttons and cuffs. 

‘Come on, then. Best not keep the duke waiting any longer.’

Definitively a brat.

This opinion was not altered during the course of their journey across Derbyshire. When Hannibal’s young companion was not gazing out at the passing scenery, he had his nose buried determinedly in his book. After three futile attempts to begin a conversation were met with two disinterested grunts and one vague, ‘Hm?’ Hannibal gave up and hunted beneath his seat cushion for a newspaper.

***

Rough lanes gave way to well-maintained thoroughfares which skirted the popular market town of Bakewell, and at length the carriage turned off the main road to pass through a splendid pair of golden gates. But their journey had not yet ended, for the final mile was a gentle traverse down a long avenue, flanked on one side by a wooded incline and on the other by a gently winding river. And looming larger by the moment, a house of gracious proportions and gleaming, gilded windows.

‘We have arrived.’

‘Mm hm.’

Exasperated, Hannibal tossed aside his paper. ‘Tell me, Mr Graham, does your head exist permanently in the clouds? Do you, for instance, have the slightest notion of what I have just said?’

The boy’s tousled head remained bent over his book as he spoke, softly and oh, so sardonically. ‘We have arrived. At, presumably, Balmore House, home of John Crawford, sixth Duke of Balmore, and his wife Isabella. His Grace prefers that his intimate acquaintances address him as Jack.’

Taken aback, Hannibal opened his mouth to question the impudent boy further, then closed it abruptly as he spied a familiar sturdy figure striding across the gravel forecourt towards them. He raised his hand in mirrored greeting; and as the carriage drew to a stop, climbed out with nary a glance at his wayward companion.

‘Duke, how good it is to see you again.’

‘Now, Hannibal,’ tutted his host, clasping his hand and shaking it vigorously, ‘you know how I feel about all that.’

‘And you know my feelings on the subject of etiquette,’ returned Hannibal, quite unruffled. ‘Allow me the correct form at least once, Duke.’

‘That makes twice, which is quite enough.’ 

‘Hmph. Will you at least allow me to apologise for the fact that we are unpardonably late?’ 

‘Probably not.’ Smiling broadly, Jack Crawford turned his attention to the carriage. ‘Ah, in any case, I now understand why.’

‘Sir?’ And, at his friend’s exasperated look, ‘Very well. Jack?’

Instead of replying, Jack nodded to where William Graham, book mercifully nowhere to be seen, was climbing down.

‘Hmph.’ Preparing to make the necessary introductions, Hannibal found himself instead in the role of spectator, as both parties approached each other with telling familiarity.

‘Will Graham, have you been disappearing off on Nola again?’ 

‘Do not blame my horse. You know my appalling timekeeping, Jack.’

‘Indeed. For you have made an art of it!’

And after this excess of jollity, Hannibal was confounded further when Jack threw his arms around the boy and gave him what could only be described as a fond and fatherly hug. The two of them swept past him, chattering nonsense about horses and pocket watches, leaving him no option but to follow, teeth gritted in irritation.

In the marbled entrance hall, a liveried servant took their hats and greatcoats, and from thence it was a short walk through to the family drawing room. There waiting for them, with tea and an abundance of smiles, was the duchess. Dark-eyed, ebony hair confined in a smooth coil atop her head, her face radiating kindness; she was as small and delicate as her husband was tall and imposing.

‘Hannibal, it has been far too long. And Will, how lovely to see you out again. I am glad to hear that Hannibal has been keeping you company.’

As proper explanation was neither appropriate nor desirous, Hannibal searched for something suitably non-committal to say, only to find William Graham chiming in.

‘Oh, more than that, dear Bella. Lord Raven has been kind enough to assume my guardianship until I am of age.’ The grin that he flashed at Hannibal seemed both a taunt and a dare. 

‘Hannibal,’ breathed Isabella, hand pressed to her heart. ‘That is exceptional of you.’

‘Is not it?’ he managed, privately vowing to give the boy a thorough scolding the moment they were again alone. Parading their private business - _unfinished_ business, as far as he had been aware - in a manner so completely provoking. 

‘You are certainly a brave soul,’ chuckled Jack, as they arranged themselves variously on sofas and chairs, and tea was brought in. ‘Be warned, though. On an estate the size of Raven, you may not see him for days at a time. Once he has that mare of his saddled and off -’

‘Nola shall be remaining on the estate,’ interrupted William Graham stiltedly, ‘as we are bound first for London rather than the country. Is not that so, my lord?’ 

Finding himself at last the sole focus of that direct gaze, Hannibal was momentarily distracted by the discovery that the eyes he remembered as grey were today a soft blue.

‘It is,’ he replied thoughtfully. It had not escaped his notice that the boy had made no mention of the bet, or of the fact that Wolf Hall was his home no longer. If he thought to conceal the truth from his friends, it was a naive endeavour. Yet it was also rather poignantly noble… Shaking himself from introspection, Hannibal decided that the sooner they departed for the south, the better it would be. A return to familiar routines might just restore his equilibrium, which since his arrival in Derbyshire had been thrown into perturbation.

***

After tea and cakes, the party moved outside for a short tour of the grounds. There was a period of chaos as the dogs were released, three setters and an Irish wolfhound, the latter of which headed straight for the boy, almost smothering him in its enthusiasm.

‘William, leave the dog be,’ called Hannibal, more sharply than he had intended; but really, as robust as he was, William Graham was no match for an uprearing monster such as this.

‘My name is _Will_ ,’ came the muffled response. This was followed by a snicker of laughter as the dog proceeded to bathe the boy’s face with its lolling tongue.

‘Effie.’ Jack’s booming command brought the dog to heel, and Hannibal watched with a grimace as _Will_ made a half-hearted attempt to brush himself down. ‘No one has ever called him William but his father, and their relationship was, shall we say, problematic,’ confided Jack in low tones.

One more piece of information to file away for later perusal. Not for the first time, Hannibal wondered at the impulse that had led him to invite Will Graham into his life. Guilt was an alien concept - the indecisive man’s regret. Pity, too akin to weakness. Whatever had prompted him, he could only hope that his usually sound instincts had not somehow led him to committing rare folly. 

As if Jack were reading his thoughts, he commented quietly, ‘I am grateful to you for trying to make amends for Wolf’s weakness. Bella and I would have stepped in to help, even at the risk of exciting Will’s fearsome pride. But this is better.’ 

‘Then you know.’ Grimly, Hannibal steered his friend further away from Will’s earshot. 

‘Hannibal, _everyone_ knows. Lord Shriver has delighted in ensuring it.’ Face a mask of disgust, Jack confided, ‘He believes it has given his soirees extra cachet.’

‘The man is a despicable cad. I would that I had never associated with him.’ 

‘Well, what is done is done. I thought it best to warn you, though. When you turn up in London with Will, there may well be a frenzy. The whole of society is waiting with bated breath to see what you decide to do with the hall.’ 

‘Society can go hang.’

‘Just as long as _Will_ is not made a sacrifice to it.’ And here Jack looked Hannibal squarely in the eyes. ‘We are very fond of him.’

‘So I have gathered. You both fuss over him like mother hens.’ At Jack’s frown, Hannibal held up a hand in appeasement. ‘You have no cause for worry, Jack. I have promised to care for the boy. And I always keep my promises.’

***

‘You might have mentioned that you were on such terms with the Crawfords.’

Will turned from the window, Jack and Bella now almost indistinct shapes in the distance, and offered a careless shrug. ‘You seemed intent on casting me in the role of embarrassing hanger-on. I felt it would be a shame to disappoint you too soon.’

It was almost fun to watch the internal struggles of this man - who seemed determined to keep every thought to himself - play out on his face in a variety of micro-expressions.

‘You have also an interesting way of accepting propositions.’

‘I had made up my mind. I assumed that you would want to know.’ Will glanced outside, at the passing swathes of rolling fields, and thought with a pang of Nola. 

‘There are also fields in the south, you know. Even London has its green spaces.’

He looked back, startled, at the man observing him with astute eyes of warm gold. ‘I am sure. But a cage, however gilded, is still a cage, my lord.’

A frown gathered Lord Raven’s brows. ‘You see yourself as a prisoner?’

How easy it would be to say yes, to play the hapless victim in the power of a monster. Low hanging fruit.

‘Of circumstance, perhaps,’ he said slowly, measuring every word. ‘But despite what you may think, I do have sense enough to be grateful for the opportunity you have offered me. I do not say,’ he added firmly, ‘that I forgive what took place between you and my father. At present I do not know what my feelings are. As to what becomes of Wolf Hall; well, since fate has decreed that it is your decision to make, I will accept it with as good a grace as I can.’

There followed a rather charged silence.

‘I must say,’ commented the earl at last, a gleam in his eyes that could have indicated either anger or amusement, ‘you are nothing if not honest, Will. I shall endeavour to pay you the courtesy of always being equally frank.’

Deciding that he liked the curl of his name on those stern lips, Will replied daringly, ‘I am glad to hear it, Hannibal.’

His companion’s only reaction was a slight raising of fair brows. Ground gained, it seemed sensible to capitalise on the fragile ceasefire; Will pulled out his book, returning his attention to it with diplomatic fervour. 

Despite the cheeky young thing’s show of bravado, there was a betraying bloom of colour on his downcast face. He would let it go, Hannibal decided. They were, after all, in a place of privacy. Besides, there was really no sense in their standing on ceremony, given the amount of time they would be spending in each other’s company. That last thought provoked a frisson of anticipation. Change was always invigorating, and Will Graham was certainly bringing change to the dull routine of Hannibal’s life.

The return journey passed amicably, and it occurred to Hannibal that Will might have been reading for the genuine pleasure of it, rather than simply as a tool of rudeness. HIs own eyes kept drifting from his paper, fascinated as he was by the shifting of emotions on that face of uncommon beauty. Dark, defined brows, rich curls, sweeping lashes, full red lips. Will Graham would do well in the capital - a person of pleasing aesthetics and a high degree of intelligence was always to be sought after. Perhaps a suitable match could even be arranged that would improve the boy’s prospects further. His manners would require extensive improvement, of course, and he would need to be cured of his absurd habit of gadding about at all hours. But there was no question that the boy had potential.

Such pleasing thoughts kept Hannibal occupied for the remainder of the journey. His good mood quickly evaporated upon their return, however, when upon alighting from the carriage in the shadow-strewn courtyard, Will murmured a goodnight and started walking away.

‘You will take supper with me.’ 

The intended suggestion emerged rather as an autocratic command. It was no surprise, therefore, when Will stiffened and replied, quietly but firmly, ‘I have been used to taking a tray in my room, and while we remain at Wolf Hall I would prefer to continue so.’ He did not turn around.

Irritated, Hannibal replied brusquely, ‘Do not think that our stay here will be of long duration. I would prefer to be on the road for another half week at once rather than continue to endure that infernal ice house of a bedchamber.’ 

At this, Will flashed at him a defiant glare. ‘What a pity, my lord, as every other room is shut up. If only you had said something this morning.’

‘You were not _here_ this morning.’ 

But the boy was already mounting the steps, book clutched to his chest. And Hannibal was left to end the day very much as he had started it - exasperated, cold, and alone.

***

After a cursory supper, he retired, and his nighttime ordeal began anew. A few hours of attempting to warm himself sufficiently for the possibility of sleep ended with a string of curses and a hunt for kindling to re-stoke the pitifully small fire that had died long since. Unable to find anything suitable in the pre-dawn gloom, Hannibal secured his robe and took up a candle. The drawing room sofa would have to suffice for the remaining hours of night, after which he would have the carriage readied for the journey to London, Will Graham’s sensibilities be damned. What could not be packed in half a day would have to be sent on after them. Intolerable to spend one more night in this godforsaken wind tunnel of a house.

Outside, a vicious squall spat vitriol against the Venetian glass. Within, the long passage echoed with the soft smack of bare feet against stone. It occurred to Hannibal that perhaps it would be possible to make use of one of the closed off rooms - even a bare mattress would be more accommodating of his long frame than the sofa. The first two doors that he tried would not give way. But the third slid open with ease, and the warmth which enveloped him as he slipped inside was intoxicating enough to distract him from the question of why the room had been heated. 

A four-poster bed, curtains shuttered, drew his weary attention. Otherwise, the room was sparsely furnished - an armchair, a wardrobe, a narrow dresser. All unremarkable. Depositing his candle on the dresser, Hannibal felt for the gap in the curtains on the nearest side, parted the folds, and inhaled sharply. An unmistakable mop of inky curls peeped from blankets that were more functional than attractive. And beneath them lay the burrowed form of the Honourable William Graham. Although he knew that he should leave instantly, Hannibal could not help but linger. The curve of one pink cheek was just visible, the gentle sound of even breaths telling of a soul in deep slumber. It was a strangely sweet sight. But the boy’s defencelessness was also a reminder that this was an unacceptable invasion of his privacy. Hannibal released the curtain and began backing away, only to freeze again when his heel caught on the low rung of a squat stool, which teetered for a few agonising seconds before hitting the ground with a decisive thud. 

Gritting his teeth, Hannibal waited for the inevitable. 

‘Is someone there?’ No fear in the voice husky with sleep; and a moment later, a tousled head emerged. Their eyes met. ‘Oh.’ 

It was hardly the reaction that Hannibal had been expecting. Still, he felt the necessity of a swift explanation. ‘Forgive my intrusion. I did not realise that the room was occupied.’

‘Is there something that you need, my lord?’ Will’s stifled yawn reignited Hannibal’s ire. 

‘A modicum of sleep would be nice.’

A fleeting look of discomfort crossed Will’s features. ‘Is it really so intolerable in your chamber?’

‘I believe that you know the answer to that question already,’ said Hannibal dryly, taking up the candle. ‘My apologies again. I shall not disturb you further.’

The boy chewed on his bottom lip, a distracting habit that Hannibal had noticed manifested mainly when he was thinking. ‘You should not go back to the Blue Room. I would not have you fall ill.’

‘Really? You surprise me.’ And, at Will’s exasperated look, ‘Do not concern yourself. The drawing room sofa will suffice for what remains of the night.’

Still, Will did not look happy. ‘The sofa may, but the room will be hellishly cold.’

Hannibal did not dignify that with an answer, although in the next moment his irritation was superseded by confusion when Will threw back the curtain and said, decisively, ‘Get in.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Get in.’ Will indicated the rumpled blankets with a sweep of his hand. ‘Before I change my mind. There is plenty of space. It seems to me the only practical solution.’

It seemed to Hannibal the very _worst_ of solutions. 

‘Rather unconventional, not to say a breach of propriety.’

How galling was the expression of amusement that this declaration prompted. ‘I promise that your virtue is safe with me, my lord.’

The very idea that Hannibal could be intimidated by this snip of a boy had him setting a knee to the bed and commanding tersely, ‘Move across, then, and be done with it.’

A slightly clumsy shifting around commenced. Trying not to dwell on the ludicrousness of the situation, not to mention discomfiting glimpses of pale skin revealed by gaps in the boy’s voluminous nightshirt, Hannibal settled himself beneath the blankets and turned quickly onto his side, facing the near wall.

‘Sleep well, my lord,’ mocked a lilting voice.

‘Now that I have been given the opportunity, perhaps I shall,’ growled Hannibal. He closed his eyes and, contrary to his expectations, slipped quickly into blissful unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

Mellow light, filtering warm through the room, nudged Will to wakefulness. In the instant before memory returned, he stretched out limbs loose with sleep, and started as he encountered firm muscle. Cautiously, he turned his head. 

At some point, Lord Raven - Hannibal - had rolled onto his back. The night before, Will had gained only shadowy impressions of his unexpected guest. Now, the canvas of his body was outlined clearly, hollows and planes gilded by weak sunshine, overlaid by white muslin from neck to calf. At the open throat, a smattering of ash hair, with just a touch of silver peeking through in places. It matched that which spilled now across his forehead, lending him an air of vulnerability. Mouth lax, forming in sleep an oddly endearing pout. One long-fingered hand lay across his stomach; the other dangled from the side of the bed. Will’s eyes travelled lower, skipping hastily to defined calves and shapely feet; and then, in furtive curiosity, up again to the bulge visible between the juncture of Hannibal’s thighs. It was a mere trick of nature, of course. Nothing to do with Will’s presence. But it was humanising - and, in a man whom Will had determined must be despised, this was disconcerting. 

While it appeared that Hannibal had moved very little in the night, Will had sprawled out rather mortifyingly, though at least being the first to waken meant that he could remedy the situation without betraying himself. Once he had wriggled into a more modest position, and was satisfied that the distance between them was respectable, he returned his attention to Hannibal’s sleeping form - and, furtively, to the bulge that had grown yet more pronounced. Despite a feeling of guilt at such blatant - not to say questionable - voyeurism, Will could not bring himself to look away. Worse, he began to feel the stirrings of arousal. In confusion, he sought to press down his own growing erection, but found himself unable to resist the temptation instead to rub and seek relief.

‘Good morning, sir.’

The cheery voice sent scorching heat rushing to Will’s cheeks. He scrambled upright, clutching the blankets around him, thankful beyond words that the end curtain was still closed.

‘Peter, a few minutes more of privacy, please.’

‘Oh, of course, sir. My apologies.’

Footsteps retreated, the door clicked shut, and Will buried his face in his hands in utter mortification.

‘Something the matter?’

There was no trace of self-consciousness in that low, amused rumble, and Will risked a peek from between his fingers. Hannibal lay in the same position as before, though he had drawn up one knee, artfully shielding himself. Had he been aware of Will’s eyes on him? Of what Will had been doing? Unconscionable thoughts which propelled Will from the bed.

‘You should return to your chamber before my valet returns.’ He plucked his robe from a chair and shrugged it on. When there was no responding movement, his brows drew together. ‘ _Now_ , my lord.’

‘Goodness, your concern for my reputation is most touching.’ 

Will ignored the barb, relieved that at last Hannibal was on his feet. Glance skating over the tall figure that made his bedchamber feel all at once uncomfortably crowded, Will hastened to the door. A quick glance outside revealed a deserted corridor.

‘I shall send someone to attend you presently.’ 

‘Ah, what it is to be exiled to the frozen wastes.’

At this sardonic comment, something inside Will snapped. Guilt and resentment boiling over, he began fairly shoving his smirking tormentor from the room.

‘Perhaps,’ he hissed, ‘you should have thought better of accepting so morally reprehensible a bet as the one that brought you here. You would then have been spared this great inconvenience.’

‘What the devil?’ Fingers, none too gentle, bit into his shoulders, holding him at bay. ‘Little termagant! What do you mean by flying at me like this?’

Not for the world would Will give any quarter by wincing. But something of pain must have shown in his face, for in the next moment he was released. Grim-faced, Hannibal backed away. 

‘I see now that you were being perfectly frank when you said that you did not forgive the circumstances of our meeting.’

Breathing hard, Will lifted his chin in silent defiance. 

‘Well, know this, Mr Graham.’ Hard eyes raked over him. ‘While forgiveness may be yours to withhold as you like, _good manners_ are not. And I am damned if I will be your whipping boy for the next two years.’ 

Mulling this over, heart sinking at the reminder of his new reality, Will watched his guardian stalk away. And cursed his father anew for the weakness that had brought their family to this.

***

‘What do you mean, our rooms are not yet ready?’

Will rolled his eyes and sank onto the nearest stool with a glum sigh. The hot and heaving inn was an assault on his senses, a cauldron of smoke and noise. And Hannibal seemed bound and determined to add to the general fractiousness. He towered over the red-faced innkeeper, cutting through blustering excuse after excuse with a sharp ‘Get to it, man.’

Ten hours. Of potholes, intermittent rain, and stony silences broken but rarely - and then only out of necessity, as when the horses required changing and the passengers were in need of sustenance. This sad state of affairs, Will had to admit, was as much his doing as Hannibal’s. But even had he been predisposed to try, he had been in no condition to attempt a mending of fences between them, the misery of motion sickness having taken all of his focus. While years of his father’s intolerance for such weakness had taught him endurance, this particular journey was proving to be an ordeal of unnerving proportions. Besides, even if he had been inclined to talk, what more was there to say? His childhood home would doubtless soon be sold off; his beloved mare was lost to him forever; and he had now but a trunkful of possessions to his name. In Derbyshire, fighting spirit had kept him from sinking. He had comprehended his situation, but he had not truly _felt_ it. 

He was feeling it now. 

Meanwhile, Hannibal was looking down his aristocratic nose at the man practically bowing before him. ‘My ward and I shall dine downstairs while our sleeping quarters are being prepared. Have you a private room?’ 

‘Yes, your lordship, of course. Please follow me. I cannot apologise enough for the inconvenience.’

The obsequious innkeeper was sweating, and Hannibal wrinkled his nose at the pungency of the fellow. He should not, he supposed, have barked so at him. It was hardly the poor man’s fault that the day had been hellish. In the periphery of his vision, he took note of Will’s defeated posture. It irked him. Sullenness did not suit the boy. A memory surfaced, then, of hitched breathing and awkward fumbling, of pink cheeks and the delicate scent of arousal. A natural state for the early morning, but disconcerting nonetheless, particularly in view of the circumstances. It was inadvisable - not to say highly inappropriate - to dwell on such thoughts, of course. With an impatient clearing of his throat, Hannibal indicated for the innkeeper to precede them.

They were led through the crowd into a small but presentable dining parlour, simply furnished with a table of polished oak, two chairs, and a dresser scattered with dimly glowing candles. Will took a seat and began playing idly with the cutlery. Pretending not to notice, though the infraction of etiquette grated as doubtless it was intended to, Hannibal claimed the vacant seat, and again addressed the innkeeper.

‘Soup to start, I think. And we will take a bottle of your best wine. Have you any game?’ 

The innkeeper ceased sweating and began preening. ‘My wife’s specialty is rabbit stew, if your lordship would care to partake.’

‘I would. We both shall.’ A curt nod dispatched the man. 

‘I have never cared much for rabbit.’

Will’s casual declaration was a surprise after so many hours of stubborn muteness. 

‘Do you dislike the taste?’ Hannibal kept his own tone neutral. He felt absurdly as though he were sitting opposite some wild thing that might take fright and bolt at the slightest provocation. And in truth, he was as hungry for Will’s conversation as he was for food. 

‘I dislike the practice.’

Hannibal’s brows rose. ‘You do not hunt? That is rather unusual for someone of your standing.’

‘I used to fish on occasion, to bring variety to our table.’ Will’s tone was defensive. ‘But trapping seems to me a particularly cruel exercise. There is rarely enough meat to be procured from small game to justify such ends. What little we end up consuming of this poor creature, it will hardly have been worth the effort.’

‘Then it should perhaps have hopped faster.’

The return of the innkeeper with wine and goblets put a brief end to the exchange. And although Will was back to glaring again, it was not to be denied that Hannibal much preferred such vigorous debate to their previous mutual frostiness.

The vegetable soup was of middling quality. The wine was better. It lingered pleasantly on Hannibal’s palate, and softened his mood. 

‘Tell me, Will, what were your father’s plans for your education?’

Will reached for his wine and sipped slowly, his expression a curious mixture of anger and regret. ‘Until last year, I had a tutor. Then Papa had to choose between having his suite of rooms refurbished or paying the tutor’s salary. The tutor was dismissed.’ 

‘I am sorry to hear it.’

The boy shrugged, as if sloughing off unwanted sympathy. ‘It was of little matter. The man was a buffoon.’

‘I see.’ Holding back a smile. ‘And what of university?’

‘What of it?’ scoffed Will. ‘My father, as he told me many times, had already squandered precious funds on my brother’s education, and received a poor return for them. He was not about to waste his remaining resources on the second son.’

‘No, he was too busy gambling them away.’ Will’s fingers clenched around the stem of his goblet, and Hannibal sought quickly to add, ‘I do not say this to pain you, Will. You should have received a gentleman’s education. Your father wronged you in this as in so much else.’

‘And do you now seek to take his place?’

‘Certainly not.’ The snap in Hannibal’s voice was involuntary. It was ridiculous, of course, to be offended by the suggestion. Given the significant difference in their ages, it was a reasonable conclusion to draw. But the idea set Hannibal’s teeth on edge. 

He was rescued from the need for elucidation by the arrival of a harried-looking servant with their main course. In fairness to the innkeeper’s boast, the stew was a distinct improvement on the soup: rich, dark meat and a fair assemblage of vegetables, accompanied by chunks of fresh bread. Silence fell once again, but it had lost its brittle edge, and there was a gleam of humour in Will’s eyes as he set down his spoon for the final time and looked across the table at Hannibal. 

‘It should have hopped faster?’

Hannibal felt the pull of an answering smile. ‘My sense of humour has sometimes been called eccentric.’

They did not linger over the meal. Travelling was a tiring business at the best of times, and long distances were especially trying. Their chambers at last declared fit for use, they were led up a narrow flight of wooden steps and along a dark corridor to an adjoining set of doors. Left alone with tallow candles to light their way, they stood face to face, and Hannibal noted with a frown the bruise-like shadows beneath Will’s eyes. 

‘I had intended for us to reach London by nightfall tomorrow, but perhaps that is asking too much after the rigours of today. It would not hurt to postpone our arrival by a little.’

Will stiffened. ‘Not on my account, I hope.’

‘And why not? I am now responsible for your welfare, after all.’

This statement was met with a distinct lack of enthusiasm and a fearsome glower. 

‘Lord Raven, we will get along much better if you would refrain from treating me like a child.’

‘I have little experience of children. I do not believe that I understood them even when classed as one myself,’ replied Hannibal dryly. ‘So you should believe me when I say that I regard you only as yourself, Will.’

Apparently mollified, Will nodded shortly. ‘My father had no use for children so I grew up more quickly than my peers.’ 

There was no hint of self-pity in his tone, and Hannibal had to wonder at the events that must have shaped such rigid self-regulation. The unspoken truths of Will Graham’s childhood were unspooling one by one with appalling clarity. ‘You became self-reliant. And your brother? Did not Lord Wolf play favourites?’

Finally, a flicker of sadness. ‘ _He_ would have said not, but the truth is that he hardly allowed Percival room to breathe. My brother was a gentle soul, an academic more suited for the church than the army; yet directly he turned twenty-one, he got his commission. That should speak for itself.’

‘He left you alone.’

‘He always meant to return.’ Stoutness in the face of criticism of a beloved sibling. How well Hannibal knew that feeling. ‘He _would_ have returned.’

Candlelight had created a cocoon of intimacy that shut out everything save themselves, lending a dream-like quality to their hushed conversation: barriers dissolved and reserve melted. In this moment, they were not reluctant guardian and resentful ward. In this moment, they were just Hannibal and Will. Two individuals brought together by circumstance, tied by fate. Hannibal looked into fierce blue eyes and smiled. On impulse, he set a palm to Will’s face, thumb caressing the apple of the boy’s cheek. 

‘Will,’ he murmured. ‘I am beginning to realise the aptness of your name.’

Heart beating unsteadily, Will stepped back, and immediately Hannibal’s hand fell to his side. That, of course, had been the aim. Silly, then, to feel suddenly bereft. Swallowing, Will forced himself to continue holding that penetrating gaze.

‘We should continue on to London as planned, though I am not averse to extra stops. It would be better for the horses if they were changed more frequently.’

‘I am sure that my coachman would agree with you. Very well.’ Expression enigmatic, Hannibal pulled open his chamber door. The flames of their candles flared in the slight breeze created by the movement, casting light that chased away the enclosing shadows, and just like that the illusion of closeness was shattered. ‘I shall bid you goodnight. We have another long journey ahead of us.’

And then he turned his back and was gone. Will remained where he was, feeling rather foolish, as Hannibal’s door closed behind him with a resolute thud. Behaving like a skittish fawn would hardly encourage his guardian to see him as the adult he kept insisting he was. But the warmth of that touch, and the beguiling scent of Hannibal’s cologne, like sunshine and oranges, had once again conjured feelings that he had no business dwelling on.

***

The sparseness of the accommodations notwithstanding, Will slept with surprising soundness. Hannibal, too, appeared much refreshed when they met up early the next morning at the same table that they had occupied for supper. Resolved to draw a line under the awkwardness of their parting the night before, Will kept up a determined stream of bland commentary on the history of the inn between mouthfuls of cooked ham, eggs and bread. It was worth a slight twinge of indigestion to feel the lessening of tension between them; and by the time the carriage was loaded and they were on the road once again, Will was silently congratulating himself on a strategy well-executed. Until Hannibal, long legs crossed elegantly, hat balanced on his knee, fixed Will with a look of amusement. 

‘Tell me, Will, which is your preferred method of self-defence? Silence or loquaciousness? Having been on the receiving end of both, I am curious to know.’

Perhaps not so very well-executed after all.

Will cocked a brow in haughty challenge, determined nonetheless to give no quarter. ‘I read people, Lord Raven. It is their behaviours that determine my own.’

‘And you read from my behaviour this morning that I would be most receptive to inane chatter?’

The sting of this provoked Will into being more direct. ‘I cared little for what you would be receptive to. My chief object was to avoid conversation. From the little I know of you, you do not care for rudeness. Therefore you were unlikely to interrupt.’

‘Your solution to avoiding conversation was to talk nineteen to the dozen? How singular,’ said Hannibal dryly.

Will shrugged. ‘Reciting facts requires little thought.’

‘Incidentally, how did you have so many to hand?’

‘The innkeeper,’ said Will absently, blanching as the wheels rolled over a series of unyielding obstacles, sending the carriage rocking to a stomach-churning degree. He swallowed and continued. ‘He saw fit to keep me company while I waited for you to come down for breakfast.’

Hannibal’s mouth firmed. ‘You should have knocked on my door. Inns are not safe places to wander around alone, Will.’

Too busy combating nausea to roll his eyes, Will redirected the subject. ‘Since it seems that we are now to have an _actual_ conversation despite my best efforts, perhaps you would tell me something of London. Do you keep a permanent residence there?’

‘My family home in Westminster. Although once the Season is over, I shall have the house shut up for the winter.’ Hannibal’s gaze sharpened. ‘You are looking pale. Yesterday I thought you merely tired, but perhaps you are sickening for something.’

An unfortunate choice of words that coincided with a particularly forceful lurching. Will clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘Stop the carriage, please,’ he mumbled.

A sharp rap on the roof, a barked order, and the rocking mercifully stopped. Will fumbled with the door catch, clumsy in his desperation to escape, and found a warm hand covering his own.

‘Allow me.’

Moments later, he was on his knees, retching into the grass verge. 

‘Silly boy. Why did not you tell me?’ But the hand on his shoulder was gentle. ‘We could have taken an easier route. More circuitous, perhaps, but…’

Will shuddered. ‘I would rather get it over with as quickly as possible.’ He wiped his eyes, and was about to start hunting for a pocket handkerchief when one was thrust into his hand. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured, dabbing at his mouth and pulling a face at the bitter taste that remained. 

Hannibal rose from where he had been crouching beside him, and turned to address the driver. ‘We shall break our journey here for half an hour. Tend to the horses and then take some refreshment yourself.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

It was some minutes before Will felt that no repeat of the sickness was imminent. By the time he rose shakily to his feet, Hannibal had produced from somewhere a plate of chestnut-dark, round cakes. 

‘Come, Will. Sit in the carriage and try to eat something. It will help.’

The warm, spiced tang of gingerbread did indeed serve to drive away the lingering sourness of nausea, and soon enough his stomach felt settled enough for him to suggest that they continue on.

‘Are you certain?’ Hannibal’s intense, scrutinising look brought warmth to Will’s cheeks. 

‘Yes, please do not fuss.’ 

He spoke more curtly than he had intended, but it did the trick, for soon enough they were once again on the road. 

‘It would be as well for you to try to sleep. We have a long way yet to go.’ Hannibal regarded him broodingly. ‘I would that you had told me yesterday of your discomfort.’

Will dismissed a slight trickle of guilt. ‘Would you have left me behind in Derbyshire if I had?’ The silence that followed spoke volumes. ‘Well, then.’ 

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Impossible to get comfortable, much less sleep, but at least this way he could avoid further chastisement. And, indeed, apart from a resigned sigh and the tell-tale crinkling of the unfolding of a newspaper, he heard nothing more from his companion. It seemed that they were travelling now at a less frenetic pace - the insistent rocking had gentled somewhat. So much so that, within a very few minutes, Will felt himself surrendering to drowsiness. 

The following several hours were far more tolerable. Walking about each time they stopped to change horses helped, as did Hannibal’s somewhat annoying insistence that Will partake regularly of slices of the ginger cake. Eventually, Will felt normal enough to close his eyes and attempt sleep again.

The next thing that he was aware of was a low, husky voice close to his ear. ‘Will. We are almost there.’

Blinking, Will lifted his head from what seemed to be a firm pillow, and blushed to discover that it was, in fact, Hannibal’s shoulder. At his questioning look, Hannibal quirked a smile.

‘You were being thrown about in quite an alarming fashion. I thought it best.’

To cover his confusion, Will turned to look outside. All was darkness, except for smudges of light in window after window. At some point they had swapped rough roads for immaculate avenues, and shambolic cottages for stately townhouses. The carriage slowed, drawing to a stop outside what could only be described as a palatial mansion of Portland stone. In the black of night, the townhouse gleamed elegance. 

‘Is this yours?’

Hannibal’s reply was laced with quiet pride. ‘This is Chrysalis House. Welcome to London, Will.’


	4. Chapter 4

The first four days were spent quietly settling in. During that time, Will did not see very much of Hannibal other than at dinner every evening. Even then, after an hour or so of neutral conversation, he would disappear on some pretext or other: letters to write or estate business to attend to. As oddly provoking as this distant behaviour was, it at least left Will free to wander, exploring the vast mansion with wide eyes and a thumping heart. Wolf Hall, while a fine property, consisted mainly of a labyrinth of small apartments. Its ceilings were low, its walls panelled wood that gave the illusion of warmth and intimacy. Here was all efficiency and uniformity: large spaces, tall sash windows, high ceilings, wide fireplaces. Where Wolf Hall was dark within for most of the day, Chrysalis House, with its pastel-painted hues, radiated light.

The third floor bedchamber to which Will had been assigned was spacious and perfectly functional, its adjoining room even containing a washstand and copper bathtub, but he quickly decided that his favourite space was the library. Tucked away at the back of the house on the second floor, it overlooked an elongated rectangle of lawn and cultivated beds. Beaumont Graham had been far more attentive to his collection of cards than books, refusing to devote an entire room to what he had sneeringly dismissed as the pursuit of idleness. How different was this galleried homage to literature and learning. What pleasure it had given Will, on first encountering it, to climb the ladder to the upper space which hugged all four walls, and explore with the careful brush of fingertips embossed leather, silk, and gilded paper.

On the morning of the fifth day after their arrival, legs dangling over the ladder’s edge as he pored over Bewick’s History of British Birds, Will was almost startled to hear the familiar rhythmic stride of Hannibal Lecter in the corridor. His guardian seemed to be seeking something - or someone - pausing briefly at each threshold before moving on again. Unaccountably nervous, Will clutched the book a little more tightly and waited, eyes trained on the open doorway. 

‘There you are.’ 

There was a hint of impatience in the richly textured voice that Will felt to be entirely unearned, given that thus far he had been more or less left to shift for himself. In lieu of a reply, he closed the book with a thud and waited.

‘I would speak with you in my study, Will.’

Hannibal’s study, situated just off the drawing room, was one of the few day rooms that Will had not yet entered. Somehow, it had felt off limits: the domain of a man who simultaneously intrigued and unnerved him. The idea that he was being summoned there now was hardly appealing.

‘Have I done something wrong?’

Clearly, Hannibal had picked up the deliberately placed note of challenge, for he raised fair brows. ‘Not at all.’

‘Then cannot you speak to me here?’

There followed a pause, a look that Will could not interpret, and the dry reply, ‘Certainly, if you would come down to ground level.’ 

Despite his small victory, Will felt somewhat like a child about to be chastised. He slotted the book carefully back onto its shelf and climbed back down the ladder, standing awkwardly before Hannibal and wishing that he had allowed Peter to tie his neckcloth that morning, rather than doing the job with careless haste himself as he was wont to do at home. The elegance of his guardian - boots gleaming, maroon coat regimentally tailored from high collar to cuffs - served only to render Will horribly aware of how gauche he must appear. The country orphan, dropped into fashionable society; at best an object of pity, at worst the subject of eager speculation.

Perhaps sensing his discomfort, Hannibal gestured to the armchairs set about a marble-topped reading table. ‘Be seated, Will. There is no need to stand on ceremony.’

As the chairs themselves were an exercise in ceremony - carved walnut with cream silk cushions - Will had to suppress an ironic smile. He flopped into the nearest one and watched Hannibal fold himself neatly into another facing him.

‘Are your accommodations satisfactory?’

‘Perfectly, thank you.’ 

‘I am glad.’ Hannibal laced long fingers together over a trim stomach. Every movement was measured, every head tilt precise. There was, Will thought absently, true beauty in such economy. ‘You must forgive me my prolonged absences. I had certain matters to attend to upon our arrival, and as some are very much your concern, I wish to share them with you now.’

Will’s heart plummeted. ‘You have sold Wolf Hall.’

Hannibal frowned. ‘My steward has not yet reached Derbyshire. And when he does, the process of appraisal will take no inconsiderable time. No, Will, what I have been arranging these past days is very much for your benefit in the here and now.’ 

The relief that flooded Will was tempered by the knowledge that one day, the answer to his question would inevitably be ‘yes’. Still, he relaxed a little at the reprieve. ‘If you wished to make me curious, you have succeeded. Tell me.’

For his impertinence, he received a pointed, unblinking look. ‘In the first instance, I have engaged a tutor for you.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Will stiffened. ‘Why, pray, would you think me in need of a tutor?’

‘To complete your education, Will.’ Will’s fingers curled into his palms at the condescending tone. ‘And so that, perhaps a year from hence, you may take up a place at university.’

‘And do I have any say in this grand plan?’

Hannibal stilled, displeasure sitting heavy in his stomach. His ward’s stubborn streak aside, he had been so sure that this news would have pleased him - indeed, the anticipation of shy smiles and grateful thanks had added a piquancy to the past few days. The reality was entirely vexing. ‘You think me high-handed? I am your guardian, Will. Is not it the duty of a guardian to ensure the education of his charge?’

‘You have been my _guardian_ for little more than a week.’ The flush on Will’s cheeks was not unbecoming, although his pouting manner left much to be desired. 

‘You believe that I should have waited?’

‘I believe that you should have consulted me,’ shot back Will. ‘It seems I must tell you yet again that I am not a child, sir.’

Unbidden came an image of that cherubic face pressed into his shoulder, soft curls brushing his chin as the motion of the carriage had rocked the boy, holding him fast in sleep. Holding him almost as securely as Hannibal had himself, in a gesture prompted by an instinct to protect that had taken him entirely by surprise. _Was_ he entertaining paternalistic feelings for the boy? A taunting whisper reminded him of intimacies already shared which laughed to scorn such noble sentiments. Lithe limbs twining with his own on a cold night in Derbyshire, the slumberous boy entirely unaware of the effort it had taken Hannibal to untangle himself and move as far away as Will’s bed would allow; and then, at the inn, a moment of tenderness by candlelight, the urge to touch that satin cheek wholly irresistible. _Fatherly_ he most definitely was not feeling. Still…

‘That is irrelevant, Will. The law states that you cannot make decisions for yourself until you turn twenty-one. If you are to be my ward, then you must trust me to make them for you.’

Although Will said nothing in reply, the look in his eyes was sufficient to communicate his feelings: trust the man who had played such an active part in the loss of his home? Such an idea was risible.

Hannibal sighed. ‘Perhaps you would meet with the tutor before dismissing the idea out of hand.’

A silence, then, ‘Perhaps.’

A grudging accommodation was better than none. Feeling that the subject was best dropped for the present, Hannibal turned to another. This one, he felt sure, would summon those hoped-for smiles.

‘There is one other thing that I would like to do for you, Will.’

Blue eyes regarded him with caution. ‘Go on.’

‘You have been resident in my house for five days. Naturally, there is a great deal of curiosity about you.’

‘Already?’ Will’s brows gathered.

‘Will,’ as gently as he could, ‘London is a network of gossip. Your story is the talk of the town.’

‘I see.’ 

The boy looked now as green as when he had begged for the carriage to be stopped. But Hannibal checked the impulse to go to him and offer comfort. Even if such action were merited, it would hardly be welcome. 

‘I thought that the best way to silence people would be to give them what they want.’

‘And that is?’

‘You.’ Hannibal met his ward’s stare of incredulity with a confident smile. ‘The Earl of Cley is holding a party tonight, at his house in Berkeley Square. The best of society will be there, and I believe this to be a unique opportunity to allow them to indulge their curiosity all at once. How does that sound to you?’

‘Intolerable.’ This was followed by a defeated sigh. ‘But I daresay that enduring endless speculation would be worse.’

Considering this concession nothing short of a victory, Hannibal gave a satisfied nod. ‘I agree.’

Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘You have sent an acceptance already.’

How charmingly naive was his young companion. ‘Will, one does not simply arrive on the host’s doorstep at the last moment, hoping for an extra chair at dinner. I sent my acceptance before even I set out for Derbyshire.’

‘But you could not have sent mine.’ Sitting up straighter, Will eyed him with a look of suspicion. ‘So why would there be room for me?’

‘I have had always,’ here, Hannibal paused delicately, ‘an open invitation to invite whom I pleased to such occasions. Tonight, I should like very much to invite you.’

Fascinating that the boy seemed to be fighting a blush. ‘I warn you, I do not care much for society.’

Hannibal hummed in amusement. ‘Then this will be a very interesting evening.’ In truth, he was looking forward to it now with an even greater expectancy than before. Here was no meek lamb to the slaughter; rather, Will Graham would be as a precocious cub among startled fancy fowl. What the upper echelons would make of this brusque son of a disgraced baron, with his wild curls and defiant eyes, was anyone’s guess. For the first time in a long time, the prospect of a night of socialising offered more than the familiar dreariness of small talk, easy wins, and the occasional proposition. All at once, Hannibal found that he could hardly wait for sunset.

***

Number thirty-eight, Berkeley Square, was as ostentatious as Chrysalis House was gracious. Greeted upon their arrival by a line of servants in garish livery, Will followed Hannibal in handing off his hat, and glanced around the tapestried entrance hall with distaste. Every wall was lined with statuary, all of it remarkably ugly. He had no time for comment or query, however, as a nudge at his back alerted him to the presence of a strutting dandy with a silver-topped cane and the highest quiff Will had ever seen. 

‘Frederick,’ Hannibal bowed, and the dandy did likewise. ‘I should like to introduce to you the Honourable Will Graham, lately of Wolf Hall in Derbyshire. Will, this is Lord Cley.’

‘Good to see you back, Hannibal.’ The earl swept a lazily assessing glance over Will, who stiffened slightly. Aristocracy or not, he was eyeing Will in a manner most impertinent. ‘So, this is the morsel you have brought back with you from the wilds of the north.’

‘Now, Frederick,’ cautioned Hannibal, before Will had a chance to voice his own indignant protest, ‘you must not tease the boy. Allow him to become accustomed to your sense of humour before making him the target of it.’

Although Hannibal’s tone was mild, his eyes held a steely glint. Evidently the earl saw it too, for he turned at once to Will, an ingratiating smile pulling at his lips. ‘But of course. We would not wish to frighten him away. Enjoy your evening, Mr Graham. Perhaps I will see you at cards later on.’

Will firmed his mouth. ‘I do not think so, my lord.’ 

‘Hm.’ Lifting the silver knob of his cane to his lips, Lord Cley pressed a smirk against it. ‘We shall see, Mr Graham. I have a notion that you might change your mind after a few glasses of my excellent Madeira. Apples falling from trees and all that.’ And with an airy sniff, he moved on to greet the next set of arrivals.

‘My apologies, Will.’ He felt the light brush of Hannibal’s shoulder against his. ‘That was insensitive even for Frederick Chilton.’

‘No matter.’ Will lifted his chin, eyes meeting Hannibal’s in hard challenge. ‘I daresay I shall have to get used to worse if I am to live in the south. In Derbyshire we are blunt, I will give you that. But here, it seems, your insults are just as sharp, if dressed up in silks.’

‘Will.’ For one breathless moment, he thought that Hannibal would reach out to him, but in the end his guardian merely said, ‘Do not judge us all by the foolishness of one. Come,’ and he was urged forward, towards glittering lights and lively music that promised much-needed distraction.

A dance was in progress as they entered the main hall: carpet rolled back, parquet floor vibrating with the energetic steps of a quadrille, circles of couples twirling and spinning like unfurling flowers. The air was thick with ringing sounds, laughter and convivial conversation flowing fluidly beneath the orchestra’s beat. One voice in particular caught Will’s attention, and he turned with a growing sense of relief and joy to where, at the fringe of the dance floor, a wonderfully familiar figure stood. Radiant in white silk, hair caught up in ribbons threaded through a Grecian bun, black curls framing a sweetly-rounded face.

‘Margot,’ he breathed, smile widening as she turned, gasped, and practically launched herself across the floor at him.

‘Dearest Will! I begged Papa to bring us to town sooner, and I had hoped to see you here, but - oh, let me look at you.’ Grasping both of his hands, Margot stepped back and beamed at him in approval. ‘London agrees with you, that is certain. How handsome you are. And I am glad to see that there is colour in your cheeks again. Dare I ask who has put it there?’ 

This last was said sotto voce, though Will blushed anew with embarrassment, intensely aware of the man standing just behind them. ‘You are completely impossible, as always.’ And, tugging himself gently free, ‘Sir, allow me to introduce to you Miss Margot Verger, a dear friend. Margot, this is Lord Raven, my guardian.’

‘Ah, the guardian.’ Margot’s gaze turned speculative. Although a year younger than Will, she was entirely self-possessed, and Will had witnessed many a man yield beneath the frankness of that green stare.

Hannibal, of course, was entirely different, offering his hand and a smile full of charm. ‘Miss Verger, it is a pleasure to meet you.’ 

To Will’s disbelief, Margot actually coloured a little. But before another word could be spoken, he found his arm seized, and it was his own turn to be entirely flustered as he came face to face with the only other living person with whom he could ever have claimed closeness.

‘Will Graham. Dash it all, but you are a sight for sore eyes. How long has it been?’

Four years. But Will would have known his face anywhere: dark eyes full of mirth, dark hair artfully tousled, full mouth ever smiling. Matthew Brown. 

He stood in a daze as the introductions were made, vaguely aware that Hannibal, too, was being hailed from somewhere in the room. And then all of a sudden, he was tugged away to join a party of young people who had just entered the room. Most he knew by sight, from parties he had attended at Lemmington Hall, the Vergers’ country seat. The sight of one, in particular, was enough to shake him from his stupor. Fair-haired and blue-eyed, handsome in a pasty sort of way - and unquestionably the most loathsome individual Will had ever known.

‘Well, well. Look what the earl dragged in.’

Will returned the older boy’s sneering greeting with a cold stare. ‘Mason. What an unpleasant surprise.’

***

As lovely and quick-witted as Lady Bedelia du Maurier was, Hannibal would not, if pressed, have been able to repeat the finer points of her current discourse, so distracted was he by the conduct of the group which had claimed Will. Their laughter was raucous, the threads of their conversation which snagged on the air filled with vulgarity. A few - Will, Miss Verger, and the boy who had so rudely interrupted them to snag Will away - stood slightly apart from the rest, seemingly equally discomfited by the behaviour of the majority. Debating whether to step in, Hannibal watched as a sour-faced, gouty individual whom he recognised as Molson Verger lumbered over to speak with the ringleader. It was undoubtedly his son, for the two looked uncannily alike, although the boy had yet to acquire his father’s bloated physique. Verger’s remonstrances were not subtle, and there were presently more than a few stares being directed at the group. Despite his annoyance at the turn of events, Hannibal could not help but feel a sense of pride at the dignified way in which Will was conducting himself. The eyes that were drawn to _him_ were certainly not done so in censure. How perfectly suited was the coat of midnight blue that drew attention to the slim lines of his firm young body, a perfect foil for waistcoat and breeches of pearl-white. As for the stockings that clung to shapely calves...

‘Hannibal, in another moment I shall walk away.’

The clipped tones of his companion snapped Hannibal’s attention back, and he touched her arm in a placating gesture.

‘Please forgive my rudeness, Bedelia. My ward is but newly in society, and he appears to have landed himself in the wrong company.’

‘Dear me. Already?’ 

Hannibal did not much care for her mocking tone; but to his relief, he saw that Will was making his way back. This feeling was tempered by irritation at the sight of the dark-haired boy at his elbow. 

‘What is that one about?’ he muttered, half to himself.

‘Mr Matthew Brown? His father is some sort of industrialist in the north.’ Bedelia waved her hand dismissively. ‘I believe that the son is up at Oxford. Or shall be, when the new term commences.’

With Will returned finally to Hannibal’s side, he should have been content, yet the boy radiated a strange sort of tension which failed to lessen when Hannibal drew Bedelia forward and presented her to the newcomers. She seemed most interested in Will, and after exchanging cursory greetings with Miss Verger and Mr Brown, looked him over with open amusement.

‘My, what a poppet.’

Hannibal felt laughter rising at the spark of outrage in Will’s eyes. ‘Mr Graham is full eighteen years of age, my lady.’

‘Nay, nineteen! Well, practically.’ All heads turned to Matthew Brown, who shrugged cheerfully. ‘Did not he tell you? Tomorrow is Will’s birthday.’

‘ _Matty_.’ 

Hannibal looked sharply at his ward, whose hissed whisper had doubtless been intended for Matthew Brown’s ears alone. The informality of the address caused his stomach to clench. 

‘No, no. It simply will not do.’ The smirking chit now had one arm looped across Will’s shoulders. ‘We must mark the occasion, as we did when you turned fifteen. Remember? I am sure that you must.’ And he winked at the general assembly.

The latest quadrille ended and a country dance was announced. Noticing how pale Will seemed suddenly, Hannibal seized immediately on the opportunity of breaking up the little gathering.

‘We can discuss birthday celebrations later. Will, why do not you and Miss Verger set the example for your friends? My lady,’ bowing to Bedelia, ‘would you do me the honour?’

‘Why, certainly, Hannibal.’

As he straightened up again, Hannibal caught Will’s eye. The boy still looked none too happy, and quickly broke the contact, although he led his young friend onto the floor without protest. As a dozen or so more couples joined the line, Hannibal was immensely pleased to note that Matthew Brown had returned to his original party, and that the whole sorry troupe were even now trailing off into another part of the house. 

In the usual course, he would have taken great pleasure in the dance. Bedelia was a proficient partner, and well-versed in the skill of intertwining conversation and steps so that both flowed harmoniously. Part of him was, indeed, enjoying the vigorous routine. A larger part, however, was occupied in observing the nimble footwork and graceful movements of his ward. A particularly energetic jeté - performed with more enthusiasm than ability - pulled from him laughter, sweetly musical, and Hannibal found himself smiling in irresistible response. How good it was to see him finally finding enjoyment, even if it was not with himself...

‘It is a splendid idea, do not you think?’ asked Bedelia, as they came together again after a lengthy turn. 

‘Hm?’ Then, recollecting himself hastily, ‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’

‘Darling,’ as she trailed light fingertips down his arm, ‘you are showing your hand.’

His smile vanished and he levelled at her a quelling stare. ‘That is hardly amusing.’

‘It is not intended to be,’ she returned coolly, before gliding away again.

***

‘I am sorry, Will. I can see that he has unsettled you.’

‘I am perfectly well,’ snapped Will, executing a chasse with less than perfect rhythm, and almost stumbling into his partner as a consequence. ‘I am merely surprised by such forward behaviour.’

How like a hawk was the sharp-featured woman whose proximity to Hannibal grated on Will more with every trill of laughter and coy glance. Why, she was practically pawing at him!

‘Your Lord Raven would do well to engage a tutor versed in dance as well as arithmetic’, said Margot dryly. ‘Do take care where you step, Will. And what can you mean? Matthew Brown left with Mason and his dreadful friends some time since.’

‘I am not speaking of Mr Brown. Why should I care how he comports himself?’

Margot’s regard was steady. ‘As I recall, you once cared very much.’

‘And how many times did you advise me to forget about him?’

The interruption of another turn and separation did nothing to deflect Margot from her course.

‘Probably as many times as you told me that it was none of my concern. But very well. If it is not he who has you so preoccupied, then who?’ 

Will jerked his head in the direction of Hannibal and Lady Bedelia, who were completing an intricate turn a few couples ahead of them, clasped hands lingering, heads close together. ‘See?’ he hissed. ‘It is - unseemly.’

‘Will Graham, what are you talking about?’ Margot stared at him, followed his gaze, then stared at him again. ‘Are you speaking of Lord Raven and Lady Bedelia?’

‘Of course! You understand now?’

‘Not really.’ To Will’s intense annoyance, Margot chuckled. ‘Lady Bedelia du Maurier is one of the most respected persons in the country. Her notice opens doors to the best of London society. _Unseemly_ is not a word I have ever heard used to describe her.’

‘I believe that you just did,’ he muttered sullenly.

***

The dance ended, bows and curtsies were exchanged, and Will realised with sinking dismay that there would yet be several more dances as well as supper to get through before escape was possible. He debated slipping away - surely such a large house would not be difficult to get lost in for a heavenly hour or two - but Margot had his hand secured in a tight grip, and was leading him with typical Margot determination towards a young lady of about their age standing alone in the throng, sipping from a silver punch cup with an air of serene composure. She was pretty, dressed in a simple gown of cream muslin, with chestnut hair drawn back into a soft arrangement atop her head. 

‘Will, Alana, I have been wishing to introduce you to each other for an age!’ Margot looked between the two of them with equal fondness. ‘Will Graham, Miss Bloom is Lord Cley’s niece, and a dear friend.’

Will looked into Alana Bloom’s open blue gaze and liked her instantly. ‘Do you reside here in town, Miss Bloom?’

‘Only during the Season.’ Miss Bloom added, with wry humour, ‘The rest of the year, we do the same as everyone else - take flight back to our country estates.’

‘And where, if I may ask, is yours?’

‘My uncle’s residence is not far from Raven House, in Cambridgeshire. I understand from Margot that you and I shall be neighbours.’ 

‘You live with your uncle?’ 

She smiled at him gently. ‘I, too, am a ward. Uncle Frederick adopted me in my infancy.’

Feeling a little embarrassed, Will shook his head. ‘That was clumsy of me.’

‘Not at all. It is refreshing to meet someone, other than dear Margot here, who is interested in conversation beyond lace tucks and embroidery.’

The next half hour was spent in pleasant discourse, just the three of them. Hannibal was dancing _again_ with Lady Bedelia, a fact which niggled terribly at Will. But for the most part, he managed to put his guardian almost from his mind, turning his back on the stately progress of the cotillion, and devoting his attention to the present company.

When supper was called, Will saw at last his chance for solitude, and slipped away through the surging crowds. With a little investigation, he found an exit onto the rear terrace, and stood there for a few moments, head tilted to the star-strewn sky, breathing in air fragranced with spring flowers rather than smoke and wax. 

‘I always did say that we thought alike.’

Will’s eyes flew open, and he turned with a thumping heart and a dragging sense of inevitability to confront the figure that had risen silently from an adjacent stone bench.

'Hello, Matty.'


	5. Chapter 5

The moment Will had quitted the ballroom, Hannibal had itched to go after him. This was, he was certain, a perfectly reasonable response: after all, it was incumbent upon him to look out for the boy. And with undesirables like the Vergers floating around, it was a matter of no little concern to spot the wretched child sneaking out. Etiquette demanded that he first escort Bedelia into supper, but once he had settled her between Frederick Chilton and a marquis whose name escaped him, Hannibal wasted no time in setting out to locate his rebellious ward. 

For the umpteenth time, he regretted having engaged Bedelia for a second dance. Not only for the inevitable public speculation that was attached to such a move, but also because ex-lovers were never the most clear-sighted in the matter of perceived threats, and he knew well that each glance he had spared for Will would have been noted and catalogued. Such ridiculous behaviour would not, however, deter him from pursuing his present course. Muttering half a dozen curses as room after room was revealed to be frustratingly empty, Hannibal was debating whether to return to the supper room lest somehow Will had slipped past him, when shadows arcing across the wall directed his attention to the outer terrace.

Fuming silently, Hannibal made his way back to the ballroom. A rear door was tonight partially concealed behind floor-length drapes, but he had made use of it on several previous occasions, and knew that it would allow him to emerge unseen at the bottom of the terrace steps. Better to use discretion rather than interrupt some lovers’ tryst. 

Voices murmured indistinctly; and although Hannibal had mounted half a dozen steps before he drew to a stop, it was still difficult at first to distinguish two separate figures. Then one broke away from the other, retreating with hand outstretched as if in entreaty. And cold fury gripped Hannibal as he recognised the slender form of his ward. 

‘ _Will_.’ He barely recognised his own voice, the word really more of a snarl. 

Will’s head whipped around so quickly that in other circumstances Hannibal might have laughed. But he did not feel like laughing now. He felt like marching across the terrace, seizing the boy by the arms, and shaking him until his teeth rattled. 

‘My lord, I -’

‘Get,’ commanded Hannibal with deadly emphasis, ‘down here. Now.’ Forfeiting any pretence at politeness, at civility. 

He watched with seething satisfaction Will’s complexion drain of colour as a separate, indignant voice piped up, ‘I say, steady on. We were only having a bit of fun.’

‘Mr Brown,’ with eyes boring into Will as the boy walked slowly towards him, apprehension in every line, ‘I suggest that you leave immediately.’

The snort that followed was cut off abruptly as Hannibal flicked his dark gaze to the real object of his wrath. An instant was all that he would spare - an instant was all that it took. And off went Matthew Brown in rather a hurry, slinking back into the shadows from whence both had undoubtedly come. 

As Will reached the top of the steps, Hannibal started back down. He heard Will’s voice behind him, uncertain and coloured with frustration. ‘Wait. Where are you going?’

But he did not in that moment trust himself to reply. Plunged into darkness, he raged against such loss of control, yet was helpless to prevent roiling emotions twisting inside him, whispering insidiously. Why had they been out there? Had it been some cleverly conceived assignation? The thought that that man - that creeping creature - had laid a hand on _his_ boy...

Impossible now to return to the house. Reaching ground level, he strode past the doorway to follow the path around the perimeter of the house, taking long strides that would keep him a safe distance from his errant ward, who trailed now behind. Never in his life had Hannibal raised his hand to another human being. The urge to do so now shocked him, fed his anger, stoked it to white hot intensity. 

Reaching the pavement, he barked out his driver’s name, indicating with swift economy that the carriage was to be brought round from where the horses were grazing at the edge of the green. Will had by this time caught up, and the boy’s sigh at this instruction served to incense Hannibal further. On he ploughed again, to the front door. There he left Will with the terse instruction to wait, before engaging one servant to find the master of ceremonies and announce discreetly their departure, and another to fetch their belongings. He could not bring himself to look directly at his ward, although he was intensely aware of blue eyes on _him_.

‘Sir, please.’ 

At this, Hannibal spared him a single glance, noting the hectic flush that could have been from exertion, annoyance or guilt, none of which predisposed him to thinking any better of the situation.

Hands on hips, Will lifted his chin in challenge. ‘Shall you continue to ignore me, or will you permit me to explain?’ 

The sheer impudence of this had him swinging away again. ‘No,’ he rapped, hand raised to silence further inquiry. ‘Not here.’ 

‘What are you afraid of?’

Glowering, eyes fixed now determinedly on the doorway, Hannibal growled, ‘At this moment, your seeming incapacity for self-control. Be silent.’

He ignored the boy’s hiss of indrawn breath. Ignored every burning look. And when the carriage arrived, instead of climbing in after Will, Hannibal slammed shut the door and ordered Bernard to take his charge home. The mile walk would allow him time to marshall his thoughts, regain his equilibrium. Displays of temper, no matter how justified, were beneath him. But when he considered how high his hopes for the evening had been, his quiet pride at the prospect of Will’s social debut, Matthew Brown’s arm around Will… 

Swearing viciously, he turned on his heel and began marching away in the opposite direction. Suddenly, a mile was not nearly long enough.

***

It was too quiet. Every footstep that Will took through the silent house echoed back at him. Reproving. It had been hours since he had been dropped off. An unwanted parcel that no one knew quite what to do with. Too restless to eat, or read, or sit. Perhaps he should be packing. Stupid tears welled and he dashed them away, freezing at the top of the second floor staircase as a familiar uncompromising rap at the front door heralded his reckoning. Time to decide: fight or flight? Squaring his shoulders, Will descended, albeit slowly. Never had he backed away from a challenge, no matter how much he quailed inwardly at its prospect. By the time he reached ground level, Hannibal was already inside. Once again, Will was relegated to the sidelines as Hannibal handed off his hat to the butler, and gave quiet instruction for the servants to retire. But then, finally, his gaze met Will’s, and Will caught his breath at the intensity of that stare. 

‘My study.’ 

Gone was the overt anger, replaced by a troubling implacability that Will had not heard since their first encounter. Had that really been only eight days since? More convinced than ever that he was about to be instructed to leave the premises, he stepped back and allowed Hannibal to precede him up to the second floor and through into the study.

It was a smaller space than Will had anticipated, furnishings more economical than elsewhere in the house, although no less luxurious. Chippendale and Hepplewhite; an Adam fireplace; mahogany, velvet and brass. Tall windows looked out onto the now deserted street, the lamp outside casting enough warm light within that additional illumination was unnecessary. 

Hannibal moved to claim the chair behind the desk; and without being asked, Will took a seat in its opposite number. 

‘Tell me about your fifteenth birthday.’

Of all the questions Will had been expecting, this had not even been on the list. But Hannibal was a close listener, his perceptiveness quite deadly. Of course he would have noted and catalogued Matthew’s sly comment - it had hardly been discreet. Yet the idea of having to lay before Hannibal his shame, the circumstances of which he had shared with no one… Will caught his lower lip between his teeth and cast his eyes on the patterned carpet. Yet perhaps, in the circumstances, discretion was better abandoned. It would be little solace if he were to find himself suddenly homeless. And more than that, he hated the idea that Hannibal was currently making all sorts of assumptions about him. Resolved, he sat up straight again and took a breath.

‘What do you want to know?’

Hannibal’s eyes bore into his. ‘Everything.’

Wanting first to banish that look of disappointment, Will ventured, ‘Whatever you think happened tonight -’

‘No.’ Despite the levelness of his tone, a faint flush of anger streaked Hannibal’s cheekbones. ‘We shall not yet discuss that. Your fifteenth birthday.’

Attempting valiantly not to feel hurt by such abruptness, Will clasped his hands together tightly in his lap. ‘Very well.’ It was not so easy, nor was he able to duplicate Hannibal’s evenness of tone when old memories rose, threatening to swamp and choke him. But he dug his nails into the backs of his hands and forced himself not to shy away from his guardian’s gaze. ‘For the most part, it was an ordinary day. My father had forgotten, of course. Margot was in London for the Season. But a few of my friends still remained. They called on me at midday, invited me to join them for a swim. There was a local lake that we had all visited together since childhood, to fish or swim in. No one else went there - it was a fair distance from the usual thoroughfares. We always felt free there, allowed for once just to be boys rather than polite young gentlemen.’

‘And on that day?’

Will drew another deep breath. ‘Never more so. It was a glorious day, I remember that well. Blue skies without wind or cloud. Perfect for swimming. By the time we arrived at the lake, we were all desperate to shed our heavy clothes.’ He felt his face heating but forced himself to continue. ‘There were five of us, but the lake was large. We spread out, swam in different directions. Every now and then, someone would complain of a pike brushing their foot.’ He smiled fleetingly at the memory. ‘But mostly, it was quiet. Peaceful.’

‘Until?’ 

Will’s smile faded. ‘After I had tired of swimming, I put my head back and started floating. I was thinking of how, if he had been there, Percy would have been waiting for the right moment to swim beneath me and pull me under. Pretend to be a creature of the deep or some such nonsense. It made me sad, so I decided to swim again. And then, I saw Mat - Mr Brown. He was in the shallows by the shore, standing beneath a willow tree. He was watching me. And he was - he was stroking himself.’

Hannibal’s jaw clenched. ‘He was naked?’

At this, Will had to look away. His gaze dropped to his lap. ‘We all were,’ he confirmed huskily. ‘But that - that was not the worst of it.’

‘He touched you?’ The sharpness made Will flinch.

‘No. But as I watched him watching me, I started to feel - to feel -’

‘Aroused.’ There was a singular lack of inflection in the word.

‘Yes.’ It was almost a sigh. ‘No one had ever paid me such attention before, you see - I did not even dance at the balls my family attended, because I did not know how. So when Matty looked at me with desire, I - I liked it. The other boys were far away from us so I began to touch myself; I could not help it. And then I - could not stop. We watched each other, until we both -’ He swallowed. ‘Afterwards, it was as if it had never happened. I tried to talk to him - asked him to help me understand. It had been my first experience of that kind, you see. He brushed it off as a joke. _A birthday present. Nothing to make a fuss about_. We were of an age - he is only a few months older than I - but he was, somehow, years worldlier. We had been close friends up until then.’ He laughed sadly. ‘But when he saw how much it had affected me, he - disappeared. Began socialising with Mason Verger and his set. I had not seen him since that summer, until tonight.’ Finally, Will ventured a peek upwards. Unsure of what to expect, the calm inscrutability of Hannibal’s face was somehow a comfort. 

‘Now. Tell me about tonight.’

It was not a request. No matter how long he had paced the streets, no matter how vigorously, Hannibal had been unable to escape his imaginings. And the relentless, gnawing need to _know_. What Will had revealed thus far was troubling enough - anyone who could act so despicably to manipulate an innocent was a dangerous and undesirable acquaintance. It made him all the more determined to know it all.

But suddenly, frustratingly, Will’s expression shuttered. ‘Does my residence here depend upon it, my lord?’

Did it? Hannibal tried to picture, for a moment, his life without the presence of this impish, challenging, infuriating boy whom he had known for a mere eight days. ‘It does not.’

‘Well, then.’ The flash of relief was touching. Still…

‘That does not mean that there will be no consequences,’ he warned. ‘And I expect nothing less than complete honesty from you, Will. Always.’

‘That is fair.’ The steadfastness of clear blue eyes was unwavering. ‘What you witnessed tonight was not planned, my lord. I was in search of solitude, not company.’

‘Yet when company presented itself, you stayed,’ Hannibal could not help remarking, ugly suspicion spiking again. 

‘I was not aware that I was forbidden from conversing with people unless in your presence.’ 

Ah, there it was - the spark that in general Hannibal so enjoyed eliciting. But there was little of enjoyment to be found in this situation. ‘If it were merely a matter of conversing,’ he said tartly, only to be stopped by an earnest look. 

‘It was.’ The tightness in Hannibal’s chest began to ease, only to return threefold as Will added, ‘At least -’

‘Will,’ he snapped, ‘I advise you to get to the point.’

‘I only meant that Matty - that he wished for more,’ finished Will, looking as awkward as Hannibal had ever seen him. ‘But I - did not.’ 

‘Then he did touch you.’

Will shot him an annoyed look. ‘He took my hand, that is all.’

It was quite enough, but Hannibal fought down his outrage. ‘And that _is_ all of it?’

Will nodded and Hannibal regarded him gravely. The broad strokes of this evening he now knew. ‘Just one thing more. Tonight, Will. Did Mr Brown elicit any promises from you? Try to arrange another meeting?’

A blush overspread those youthfully rounded cheeks. ‘Not in the way that I think you mean. He wanted to know when I would next be out in society - he went to embrace me, but then you arrived.’

And even before that, Will had been retreating from his would-be suitor. The knowledge warmed Hannibal, although he hardly knew why. Vowing to keep Will away from Matthew Brown at all costs in future, Hannibal swallowed his ire and levelled a stern gaze at his ward. ‘You are fortunate that it was I who saw you together, and not the likes of Molson Verger or Frederick Chilton.’

‘You think they would have talked of it?’

An inelegant snort escaped Hannibal. ‘They would have created as much mischief as possible, for both of us. Unchaperoned assignations tend to ruin reputations.’

‘Are you sure you would not rather that I leave?’ 

There was such bleakness in Will’s voice, it tugged at Hannibal. What remained of his anger melted away, leaving in its place an odd hollowness. 

He replied slowly, ‘I would rather have you realise that the circles in which we move, and the lives we live within these circles, while privileged, have their drawbacks, chief among them being idleness and a vast propensity for gossip.’

‘I never found it to be so in Derbyshire.’

Stubborn thing. ‘In Derbyshire, geography diluted your exposure to wagging tongues; that is definitively not the case here, as I warned you yesterday.’ Will looked ready to argue, so Hannibal decided to preempt him with a change of subject. ‘As tomorrow is your birthday, perhaps you would care to accompany me to the opera.’

‘To enjoy the music or for another life lesson?’ sniped Will.

As insolent as that was, Hannibal found himself fighting a smile. And just like that, the clouds parted. ‘Now, Will,’ he admonished, ‘every experience worth its salt is a life lesson.’

***

After a night of unexpectedly easy slumber, Will found himself eager to be once more in his guardian’s company. The confidences that he had shared with Hannibal had lightened him somehow; Hannibal knew the worst, and had accepted it.

‘How are you finding it here, Peter?’ Will lifted his chin, allowing his valet to more easily tie his cravat. ‘Are your quarters satisfactory?’ 

‘Very, sir, thank you. For sure, London society is a trifle more lively than either of us is accustomed to, but I daresay we shall soon adjust.’ Keeping his eyes on his task, Peter added quietly, ‘I hear that Lord Raven has made plans for your birthday. Nothing too exciting, I hope.’

Will chuckled. ‘How well you know me. It is just a trip to the theatre, Peter. Nothing too onerous - provided that I myself am not expected to be entertaining, of course.’

‘Heaven forbid, sir.’ Tall and grave, with a lean face and kind eyes, Peter stepped back to cast a critical eye over Will’s ensemble. ‘I do wish that you would allow me to order some new mourning clothes. You cannot wear the same tailcoat every day.’

‘Certainly I can. I have shirts and waistcoats enough, and the doeskin wool coat will do very well for evenings, as it did last night.’

‘Your breeches will wear holes at the knees in no time,’ grumbled Peter.

Will grinned. ‘I have full three pairs; they will suffice. Particularly since I am no longer five years old, and out grubbing in the woods every day.’ On impulse, he reached out and squeezed his valet’s shoulder. ‘Dear Peter. What would have become of me if I had not had you to look after me all these years?’

‘Oh, get along now.’ With a pleased huff, Peter gathered up the previous day’s discarded articles. ‘And may I be the first to wish you joy of your birthday?’

‘Thank you, Peter.’ With a fond smile, Will watched his servant depart. 

The smell of freshly cooked food drew him down to the breakfast room. Half-expecting to find Hannibal within, he was not disappointed, and it was with an easy smile that he sat down in the seat opposite, where a place for him had evidently already been prepared. Hannibal returned his smile and lifted his teacup in salute.

‘Happy birthday, Will.’

‘Thank you.’ 

There was not a trace of the remote, incensed man who had pulled him abruptly from the revels of the night before, and he was fiercely glad that their talk had cleared the air between them. More than that - and he felt himself blushing stupidly at the thought - but somehow this more relaxed and approachable version of his guardian was a delight to be in company with. Although dressed as impeccably as ever, in a smart tailcoat of olive green and close-fitting beige breeches, Hannibal positively oozed ease. Tawny hair in its usual side sweep, a few strands had been left loose to fall across his brow. It reminded Will of the night they had shared a bed at Wolf Hall, which only made his blushes worse. Hunting for a distraction, he peered across the table at Hannibal’s plate. 

‘Is that grilled bone?’ He sniffed appreciatively and lifted his own newly-filled cup to take a sip of sweetened tea.

‘It is.’ Knife slicing dexterously through the seared meat, Hannibal speared a neat square and bit into it with unashamed relish. 

Will watched, admiring the way those long, slender fingers manipulated the cutlery.

‘I would advise a good breakfast this morning.’

‘Why? Are we going somewhere?’ Will nodded his thanks as he was served, and lifted his fork.

‘I promised you the opera, if you recall. But to begin with, I thought that we would pay a call.’

Heart sinking, Will lowered his fork again. ‘Oh. On whom?’ 

‘Old friends.’ Apparently oblivious to his ward’s less than enthusiastic response, Hannibal indicated Will’s untouched plate. ‘Eat up. We must not lose the best of the day.’

***

Will had not thought it possible that any house could be grander than the one they had just left, yet when the carriage slowed to a stop in Piccadilly, his eyes rounded at the size and splendour of the sole property on the quiet street. It was a striking building of red brick, with an imposing white balcony situated just above the main entrance.

‘Are we visiting royalty?’ he asked, only half in jest, as he stepped from the carriage and waited for Hannibal to join him.

‘Not quite.’ 

Hannibal’s quiet chuckle warmed Will. How easy it was now to be in his company. Perhaps, an inner voice whispered insidiously, too easy. Had he forgotten already the part that this man had played in his loss of fortune? Was he really so feckless, so readily persuaded?

Hannibal watched with concern the shadows chasing across his ward’s fine features, but decided against commenting. In any case, the front door was opening, and the person who stepped out with a wide smile and arms outstretched would soon banish whatever temporary darkness held Will in its grip.

Sure enough, a moment later the boy’s eyes lit up and he rushed forward, straight into Isabella Crawford’s embrace.

‘Happy birthday, dear Will,’ she laughed, drawing back to catch him by the hands. ‘I am pleased to see that this has come as a happy surprise to you.’

‘The happiest.’ Wreathed now in smiles, Will turned to Hannibal. ‘Thank you.’

Suddenly, Hannibal found himself wishing for nothing more than to elicit such softness and joy in those blue eyes every day. He cleared his throat. ‘Well. Shall we go inside?’

***

‘He seems settled enough.’ Drawing on his cigar, one hand behind his back, Jack nodded to where Will and Bella stood talking beside an easel. ‘No doubt Bella is at this moment enlisting him in her artists’ club.’

‘I should have no objection if she did. I have already arranged his tutoring, but a broader educational experience would certainly be advantageous.’

‘You have found a tutor for him?’ 

‘An old friend, actually.’

Jack raised one sceptical brow. ‘And how did Will react to the prospect?’

‘Not particularly well,’ admitted Hannibal, and Jack nodded, looking amused.

‘He had nothing but contempt for the one his father engaged, although to be fair the man was second-rate. Will has more or less educated himself.’

‘Well, he has no need to, now,’ murmured Hannibal, taken with the way the rich afternoon light caught in perfect silhouette the graceful lines of his ward’s profile.

‘No, indeed he does not.’

Aware of his friend’s speculative gaze, Hannibal switched his attention to the canvas resting on the easel. 

‘Bella has a talent for portraiture. Who is the subject?’

There was something familiar about the girl staring out as if in challenge at her audience.

‘Hm? Ah, that is Miss Abigail Hobbs. Her father commissioned the portrait for her eighteenth birthday.’ Jack shook his head. ‘I would not normally give the man the time of day, but Bella has taking a liking to the child.’

Cold trickled down Hannibal’s spine. ‘She is Jacob Hobbs’ daughter?’

‘The very one.’ 

Now he saw it all. The same arrogantly tilted chin; the same belligerent blue eyes; the same sly smile that could, at any moment, diminish to a sulky pout. 

‘In point of fact,’ added Jack, ‘I believe Miss Hobbs is to return shortly for her final sitting. Perhaps Will would like to meet her?’

Making a show of checking his pocket watch, Hannibal shook his head. ‘Regretfully, we must decline. I am taking Will to the King’s Theatre tonight, and thanks to your excellent hospitality we are running a little behind schedule.’

‘Artaxerxes, is not it?’ Jack’s eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘I wonder what our country boy will make of that.’

‘It is certainly a unique interpretation.’

‘Ha. Spoken with your usual knack for understatement.’

As they strolled back across the lawn, Hannibal offered up a silent prayer of thanks to whichever deities might be listening that Jacob Hobbs had not chosen Frederick Chilton’s ball for his daughter’s coming out. Of course, the man was notoriously protective of his only child, and it would have been entirely believable had he decided to keep her in relative seclusion until her twenty-first year. Yet this portrait business was strongly suggestive of a prelude to something. Whatever it was, Hannibal was resolved to do all in his power to keep Will away from the Hobbs family. If he failed, the consequences could be grave indeed, not least for the tentative bond that he could feel growing between them with every look and smile. And he found, as his eyes met Will’s and the latter grinned back at him without reserve, that he was suddenly and fiercely unwilling to allow even the possibility of their fragile accord being damaged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Will's birthday Part 2 and getting closer at the opera! ;)


	6. Chapter 6

When Hannibal had talked of ‘opera’, Will had imagined gaudy staging, shrill sopranos, and an incomprehensible libretto. But this - this was entirely _other_. He leaned forward, absorbed in the action below, hands curling over a railing carved with pretty cherubs and garlands. Their third tier balcony overlooked the stage, and was situated at the perfect height - so Hannibal had said - for appreciating the acoustics. Six principals, voices rising and twining together in such sweetness, it prompted involuntary tears. A love story, performed in English, performed entirely by men costumed cleverly in gowns of flowing silk and brocade, neither entirely male or female in appearance. The scent of warm wax hung heavy in the air, the theatre alight with hundreds of candles that flickered and flared with every breath of every patron.

During the first lilting duet, Will had turned to his guardian in wonder. ‘Their voices -’

‘They are castrati, renowned for their purity of sound,’ Hannibal had whispered back, eyes intent on the singers. But Will had felt the caress of Hannibal’s breath on his skin and shivered. ‘The roles of Artaxerxes and Arbaces were conceived for castrati, although today most directors substitute female sopranos. All-male productions are extremely rare.’

When the orchestra fell silent for the first interval, Will sat back with a gusty sigh. ‘I had not thought such beauty in artifice was possible.’

‘Perhaps I shall make an aficionado of you yet.’ 

Will huffed a laugh, his sideways look lingering. Unlike most of the other male patrons, unimaginatively uniform in black and white, Hannibal had donned for the evening a velvet coat of deep plum, edged with exquisite flowers of red and gold. A matching waistcoat of silk brocade accentuated the powerful lines of his splendid physique, and from one pocket hung the gold chain of the treasured watch that thus far, Will had only glimpsed. 

‘Anything is possible.’ He was beginning to believe it to be true. Around them had begun a movement of people from box to box and, in the pit, parties snaking through the throng to greet acquaintances. ‘Do you know anyone here tonight?’

‘None whom I would care to acknowledge.’ Will felt Hannibal’s assessing glance. ‘Would you like to go exploring? We have twenty minutes before the next act.’

‘I could fetch refreshments,’ offered Will, feeling in that moment a strange desire to please his indulgent benefactor, ‘if you would tell me where to find them.’

‘Go up one flight of stairs and you will find the Royal Room,’ directed Hannibal, with a smile that made Will feel ridiculously like preening. ‘They serve a tolerable beverage.’

It was not quite as easy as he had envisioned. Once outside the luxurious spaciousness of their private box, Will was pressed almost immediately to the side of the wall by people swarming by, raucous and excitable in their evening finery. He managed at length to slip into a gap, following the general flow up the stairs, and into a large, red-carpeted room in which patrons were either jostling to be served by a slew of scurrying servants, or had opted to serve themselves from silver bowls laid out on a long central table. After a wait of some duration, he gave up on the former, managing finally to procure two cups, and setting about ladling out generous servings of what was apparently rum punch. 

He was feeling fairly triumphant as he turned to leave the room and almost collided with a pretty young woman in pink satin, dark hair caught up in a cascade of ringlets ornamented with matching ribbons.

‘Oh, I do beg your pardon.’ 

Her gasp of horror was entirely disproportionate to the incident, and Will sought instinctively to reassure her, only to falter as recognition dawned.

‘Have I the pleasure of addressing Miss Abigail Hobbs?’ 

Rapidly, she coloured, and cast her gaze downward. ‘Sir, we have not been introduced.’

‘No, indeed. How scandalously forward of me. I should have ignored you completely.’ At this, Will could have sworn he drew a faint giggle, and encouraged, he added, ‘As it happens, I believe that we have a mutual acquaintance in Mrs Crawford. She showed me your portrait only this morning. But,’ and here he adopted a tone of self-remonstrance, ‘that is no excuse for my social blunder. Therefore the next time we meet, I shall ensure that I have on hand a master of ceremonies to set things to rights.’

‘And when that time comes, I shall be very glad to make your acquaintance. In the meantime, we must absolutely not speak again.’ Miss Hobbs flashed upwards a look of unexpected mischievousness.

Suddenly, however, Will became aware of the peripheral presence of a lean gentleman with short-cropped sandy hair and a surly face. He gestured sharply at Miss Hobbs, who wasted no time in returning to his side, although she flashed at Will an apologetic look as she passed. This, Will surmised, was the girl’s father. A viscount, according to Bella, and a notorious gambler. He shuddered, an image of his own father as he had seen him last floating before his vision: brow sweating, expression viciously desperate as he had overseen the loading of his trunk onto the carriage that was to take him to London and his miserable end. Had he been alone when it had happened? Asleep in his bed, thrashing from nightmares of loss? Wife, favourite son, estate… In the end, what did it matter? Will had wanted no details. Beamont Graham had suffered a sudden and catastrophic seizure - what difference did geography make?

The room was emptying; Abigail Hobbs and her father had disappeared into the throng. Mood plummeting, Will made his own way back downstairs, entering the private box just as the orchestra recommenced playing. Silently, he handed a cup to Hannibal, who looked at him with curiosity but raised the cup to his lips without comment. Will did the same, resuming his seat and gasping a little at the potency of the sweet drink. Soon, however, as the music again lulled him and he tasted more of the rich liquid, he felt an uncommon warmth that settled in his belly and spread outward to his limbs, inducing a pleasant languor. Thoughts of his father slipped away, and he drifted back into his previous absorption. 

***

The second interval took him unawares, as much as the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder; and Will looked up somewhat dazedly.

‘Is it over?’

‘Hm.’ The soft amusement in Hannibal’s eyes set Will’s heart to nonsensical fluttering. ‘Perhaps a little less rum, next time.’ He rose from his seat. ‘Come.’

Assuming that Hannibal intended to accompany him to acquire more refreshments, Will was disconcerted to find that they were instead descending, and when they reached street level, he blurted, ‘Are we leaving?’

His dismay must have been apparent, for Hannibal turned to him with a quizzical look. ‘Where did you think that we were going?’

‘Back to the Royal Room.’ He laughed a trifle self-consciously. ‘I made an unofficial acquaintance there, and I had hoped that you might introduce us properly.’

‘How intriguing. And does this unofficial acquaintance have a name?’

‘Miss Abigail Hobbs. I recognised her from Bella’s portrait.’

All traces of indulgence vanished immediately. ‘You were alone with her?’

Will blinked. ‘If you do not count the several dozen other people in the vicinity, certainly.’

‘And of what did you speak?’

Annoyance was fast replacing stupefaction. ‘Chiefly, the lack of a master of ceremonies and the fact that we could _not_ speak.’

‘How very clever of you,’ snapped Hannibal. ‘Unfortunately, I am no longer on such terms with the Hobbs family. You would do well to look elsewhere for companionship.’

How had they gone from easy companionship to glaring combativeness in mere moments? Taken aback, Will sank into silence, mulling over Hannibal’s words as they waited for their carriage to pull up to the kerb. 

‘You are half-asleep on your feet, Will. There would have been little point in remaining.’ The note of apology in Hannibal’s voice turned Will’s thoughts from Abigail Hobbs onto his own mortifying behaviour.

‘I am sorry.’ He ducked his head in embarrassment. How many times had he protested his maturity to Hannibal, only to belie himself in such a way? ‘I have ruined the performance for you.’

Hannibal looked steadily at his shame-faced ward. After a moment’s hesitance, he reached out and cupped Will’s nape, stroking his thumb through soft curls. ‘You have ruined nothing, Will. My greatest pleasure is to be found right here, in your company.’ He felt a tremor go through the boy, and closed his eyes against the unexpected heat curling in his belly. It was thoroughly disconcerting, thoroughly _wrong_ , and hastily he dropped his hand. ‘Come. There is no sense in further delay.’ 

In his self-censure, he knew that he sounded abominably autocratic, but better that than to give in to this traitorous feeling that was becoming harder to ignore with every moment passed in Will’s company. What Will required was security and stability, not snappishness and condemnation. And certainly not the advances of a man old enough to have fathered him.

The revelation that the Hobbs girl was now out in society was yet another troubling issue. How much harder it would be now to avoid crossing paths with her father. What Hannibal needed was time alone to ponder the best way out of a situation that was, admittedly, of his own making. Yet when he and Will walked back through the front door of Chrysalis House, he found that he could not maintain the unrelenting silence of their return trip.

‘Umber, have some coffee brewed. We shall take it in the drawing room.’

‘Very good, my lord.’ His butler, impassive as always, bowed and left them.

‘Have you ever tasted coffee, Will?’ 

Deliberately neglecting to give Will a choice in whether to follow him, Hannibal led the way into the expansive drawing room, where fire and candlelight had created a cocoon of intimacy. He dropped into his customary chair, high-backed and leather, one of two that flanked the fireplace. Will seemed to be debating where best to place himself, in the end opting for the chair opposite his own.

‘I lived in Derbyshire, not a hole in the ground.’ Will’s glance was withering. ‘Of course I have tasted coffee.’

Hannibal’s lips twitched, heart lightening at this welcome return of spirit. ‘Point taken. But the fashion these days is for tea.’

‘I do not care for fashion.’

‘Nor I. Or at least not for its own sake. Beauty in all of its forms does interest me, though.’ 

And was not that part of the problem? For with his fine complexion, the intelligent arch of dark brows over startling blue eyes, those rebellious ink-dark curls, lips lush and sensual, and a delightfully snub nose, Will Graham was undoubtedly the most beautiful person Hannibal had ever encountered.

He was also almost thirty years Hannibal’s junior and under his protection.

The bitter aroma of the coffee heralded its arrival, a welcome distraction and an antidote to the cloying sugariness of the rum. Hannibal indicated for Will to be served first; and when once again alone, they sat for a while without speaking, drinking slowly from delicate bone china.

‘Is that what you wished for me to see tonight?’ Will glanced up through his lashes. ‘Beauty in all of its forms?’

‘That,’ conceded Hannibal, ‘and the general hypocrisy of people who love to peek behind the veil of conventionality while loudly disavowing it.’

‘You seem to live conventionally enough, your single status notwithstanding.’

Hannibal’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Brave words for a little wolf. What do you know of my life?’

‘Do not mock me.’ But Will flushed at the rebuke. ‘I intended no insolence, my lord. It was merely an observation.’

‘Nor did I intend to mock you,’ replied Hannibal equably. ‘On the contrary, I admire your pluck.’

‘Pluck?’ Will snorted. ‘Because I attempted to peek behind _your_ veil?’ He rolled his eyes, a gesture which Hannibal found unaccountably charming, although he took care to keep his own expression impassive. 

‘Not many have.’ Stirring the remainder of his coffee into a dark whirlpool, Hannibal added, ‘Or would be honest about it if they did. My general acquaintance is well aware of the fact that my personal privacy is of the utmost importance to me.’

‘But surely, as your ward, I am placed above the level of _general acquaintance_. Besides, I confided in you.’

Such a carefully casual reminder. Clever boy. Hannibal pursed his lips.

‘Quid pro quo?’

‘That would be only fair, do not you think?’

The sparkle in Will’s eyes was dangerously close to irresistible. And Hannibal found himself musing that the necessity of maintaining barriers was never as inconvenient as in that moment. Still, it was the boy’s birthday; perhaps a little indulgence could be allowed.’

‘Well now, as I have had no time to procure for you a present, at least a proper one -’

‘Excellent.’ Will sat upright, as if ready to pounce; a delight to behold even in his sombre mourning clothes. How Hannibal itched to furnish him with an entirely new wardrobe. It was yet far too early for such a move, of course; but as soon as Will’s official mourning period was over, he would whisk the boy off to his favourite tailor and bedeck him to his heart’s content. ‘How many questions may I ask?’

Hannibal could not hold back a throaty chuckle at Will’s enthusiasm. ‘We have known each other for nine days; therefore, I will permit you nine questions.’

Blue eyes narrowed sceptically. ‘And shall you promise to answer them to my full satisfaction?’

Hannibal wagged an admonishing finger. ‘Questions begetting questions? That would be cheating, Will.’ 

Of course, he was being terribly unfair - Will had answered all of his own questions with regard to Matthew Brown in unprompted detail. But this was too enjoyable a game to relinquish easily. A familiar, provoking sight added further distraction - Will’s bottom lip caught between small, even teeth. If circumstances had been different, how he would have loved to have leaned across, closed the space between them, and…

‘Then grant me _three_ questions, and agree to answer them as fully as my curiosity demands.’

‘Hm.’ Pretending consideration, Hannibal marvelled at the delightful sharpness of the boy who had been thrust into his life so precipitously. And disdained anew Beaumont Graham’s failure to see his younger son for the remarkable person that he was. ‘Very well, I accept.’ In playful impulse, he offered his hand; it was accepted readily, and he found himself in possession of Will’s slender fingers. How small they looked clasped within his own, and how great was the temptation to linger over the sensation of smooth skin against his palm. But Will’s uncertain glance was reason enough to release him without demur. Leaning back in his chair, Hannibal linked his hands over his stomach and assumed an air of nonchalance. ‘Come then, Mr Graham. Ask your questions.’

Will, in contrast, sat forward until he was perched almost on the edge of his seat, eyes bright once again with challenge. ‘Very well.’ His gaze flicked to Hannibal’s waistcoat. ‘Why do you always carry with you that watch?’ 

Perceptive. And surprising. Hannibal’s fingers almost wandered to trace the chain, but he checked himself. ‘It was a gift from someone very dear to me who died a long time ago. I keep the watch close as a remembrance of friendship and - affection.’

There was a note in Hannibal’s voice that Will had never heard before. On the point of asking about the inscription, he thought better of it. Instead, he asked softly, ‘May I know their name?’

‘His name,’ corrected Hannibal huskily, ‘was Donald.’

It was clear that there was much more to the story than the bare bones that Hannibal had related, yet Will felt a strange reluctance to probe further. Not only for his guardian’s sake, but also for the fact that a rather unpleasant sensation had lodged itself beneath his ribs upon Hannibal’s tender utterance of that name.

‘Second question.’ How terribly pettish he now sounded. Making an effort to moderate his tone, he continued. ‘Where is your family?’

A half-smile lifted the corners of Hannibal’s lips. ‘I fear you will think my life an awfully morbid story if I answer that one.’

Heart sinking, and forgetting his previous chagrin, Will reached out and touched Hannibal’s knee. ‘They died? I am so sorry.’ 

A warm hand covered his. ‘You and I have both known loss, Will. It does no good to hide from it. My parents and sister died in an accident on the road almost thirty years since, when I was up at Oxford. A storm brought down a tree, and in an instant they were gone.’

‘How old was your sister?’ 

‘Mischa was then one-and-twenty.’ It was not much more than a whisper.

Tears pricked the backs of Will’s eyes. ‘Percy was almost the same age when he died.’

‘I recall.’ The hand atop his own gave a comforting squeeze before it was lifted away. 

‘Oh dear.’ With a sigh, Will sat back in his chair. ‘I seem to have broken the mood most admirably.’

‘Nonsense.’ Brisk all of a sudden, Hannibal rose and held out his hand. ‘Come, I would show you something.’

A mere moment of hesitance followed before Will slid his hand into his guardian’s. He was led up to a familiar and beloved space: the library. And on the table lay a familiar book, wrapped all around in a ribbon of brown satin. Bewick’s History of British Birds. Questioningly, Will glanced from the book back to Hannibal.

‘I have seen you reading often since your arrival, and always one of two books.’ Releasing his hand, Hannibal picked up a second volume. ‘This, which you brought up to London with you, and Bewick’s.’

‘It is so vividly illustrated.’ Wistfully, Will trailed his fingers over the embossed cover. ‘I hope you do not mind.’

‘Will,’ with quiet humour, ‘would I be giving it to you if I did?’

His eyes grew wide. ‘Giving it to me?’ 

Hannibal smiled wryly. ‘It is a small accomplishment, I know, but it occurred to me this afternoon that you might appreciate the gesture. Funnily enough, it belonged originally to Mischa. She, too, was a lover of animals.’

Will’s throat had grown tight. He kept his eyes on the book, thumb smoothing over the wide ribbon. ‘Thank you, Hannibal. I shall treasure it.’

‘I know that you will. Well now,’ and suddenly Hannibal was stepping away, ‘ I believe that is as good a note as any to end your birthday on.’

It was. Except…

‘I do believe that I have one question remaining.’ With a thudding heart, Will approached his guardian almost shyly.

His expression one of indulgent fondness, Hannibal folded his arms across his chest. ‘Go on, out with it.’ 

Will could not help but think rather dazedly that he could stand to be looked at so for a very long time indeed. ‘Would you - would you grant me a birthday wish?’

‘Greedy thing.’ But Hannibal’s voice was soft. ‘If it is in my power to give, then it is yours. What more would you have from me, Will?’

He should not ask - he scarcely knew from where the desire had even surfaced. But suddenly, it was all that he could think about. How it would feel, how _he_ would taste. _How they would taste_.

The words trembled on his lips. ‘A kiss.’ 

For a moment, Hannibal simply stared at him as if thunderstruck. Something flared in those amber eyes - something hot and almost reckless - something that threatened to turn Will’s limbs to water. But in the next instant, it was veiled almost ruthlessly, Hannibal’s reply a purring show of courtesy. ‘Why, of course.’ 

Will knew then what his guardian would do: knew it with as much certainty as if he had choreographed the moves himself. The slightest inclination forward, arms still folded rigidly, and a gentle brush of lips against Will’s cheek. 

And because he had anticipated it, at the first butterfly-soft touch Will turned his head with rebellious swiftness so that for one heart-stopping moment their mouths connected. 

He had barely enough time to register the sensation of softness and warmth before Hannibal jerked back, eyes hard, streaks of colour harsh across his cheeks.

‘Goodnight, Will.’

‘Good - goodnight.’

He could not prevent disappointment from colouring his voice; and although the stiffening of Hannibal’s back betrayed his awareness of it as he strode from the room, he did not once look back.


	7. Chapter 7

The following morning, heart pounding and body tense with anticipation, Will descended to the breakfast room only to be greeted by Hannibal in much the same way as he had been every other morning since their arrival in London. The day proceeded as normal; at mealtimes Hannibal was a very model of ease; and their evening parting was smoothly lacking in awkwardness. So much so that Will closed his eyes that night wondering dismally whether he might have dreamed the almost-kiss.

This question gained credence as days passed into weeks, and not by a flicker did Hannibal ever once allude to the night of Will’s birthday. Thus it was that Will made a private vow to forget about it too, and to excuse his behaviour as the final chapter of impetuous childhood.

In the event, there was plenty to distract him, for the weeks after their visit to the opera saw a succession of callers to Chrysalis House, most of whom Will had met at Lord Cley’s ball and few of whom he thought much of. His most intense dislike was reserved for Lady Bedelia du Maurier, whose habits of drawling Hannibal’s given name and touching him at every opportunity set Will’s teeth on edge. Lord Cley’s visit was marginally less irritating only by virtue of the fact that he brought with him both his ward and Margot, allowing Will to escape to the garden with them for an hour or so of lively conversation.

The visitors who proved to be the most amusing company, however, were James Price and Brian Zeller. Upon first glance, Will had presumed them to be father and son; once they had been introduced, close friends; but by the end of a thoroughly entertaining luncheon, it had become clear that they were much more than that to each other. It was there in every shared look, in their mirrored body language, in each teasing exchange. Love. Deep and secure and worshipful. And Will envied them as he had never envied anyone before. 

‘They seem so happy,’ he had commented to Hannibal at the front door, after farewells had been said and plans to return the visit had been made.

‘They are indeed.’

‘Why do not they marry?’

He had blushed under Hannibal’s scrutiny, but held his ground.

‘If Brian had had his way, they would have done so ten years since.’

‘Then -’

‘There are almost two decades between them. And James is not convinced that Brian will not wish for children of his own one day.’

‘Perhaps James should trust that _Brian_ knows what is best for Brian.’ 

Will’s words had been a little more heated than he had intended, but Hannibal had merely inclined his head in acknowledgment of the point.

***

Then came the day Will had been valiantly hoping would not arrive. Three jaunty raps of the door knocker, a cheery ‘Hello, there!’ from the entrance hall, and into Will’s line of vision appeared a man with smiling blue eyes and wavy dark hair streaked not unattractively with grey. Will had been on his way up to the library, and he hugged his book rather uncertainly. 

‘Can I help you, sir?’

‘Anthony! How good it is to see you.’ Taken aback by the enthusiasm in Hannibal’s usually reserved voice, Will watched with narrowed eyes as his guardian strode out of the breakfast room and up to the stranger, thrusting out his hand for a vigorous shake that seemed to Will to go on for rather longer than was necessary.

‘You too, my friend, you too. And this, I presume, is Will.’ 

Finding himself the object of interested scrutiny, Will stiffened, and backed up the stairs a couple of steps.

‘I say, he is rather skittish.’

‘That will do, Anthony.’ But Hannibal’s warning lacked any bite. Indeed, his countenance was as cheerful as Will had ever seen it. ‘Take care or you may find your new pupil less than cooperative.’

‘New pupil?’ repeated Will in disbelief. 

_This_ was the tutor? He skimmed scornful eyes over the man whose ostentatious attire, dubious manner, and rounded tones all spoke of someone far above the humble rank of educator. No doubt this was a wealthy gentleman’s way of amusing himself between social engagements.

‘That is correct.’ Hannibal’s tone brooked no opposition. ‘Will, this is Mr Dimmond, a good friend of mine and an exceptional educator.’

The message was clear: waste this opportunity at your peril.

‘No need to lionise me, Hannibal. I am sure that we shall get on splendidly.’

At this confident boast, Will raised one doubtful brow. 

‘Then I shall leave you to it. You may use the library. Will, if you would take Mr Dimmond up?’ 

It was not, in fact, a request; and although Will flashed one final resentful glare at his guardian, who stared back impassively, he gritted his teeth and did as he was bid.

‘That is a beautiful book.’

Will smoothed a loving hand over the embossed cover, and clutched the tome closer. It was one of the few things he had insisted on bringing with him from Wolf Hall.

‘The Iliad.’ Passed from generation to generation. It had been meant for Percy’s progeny, of course, and it had given Will little joy to inherit it under such circumstances. Yet it counted as Will’s most precious possession.

Mr Dimmond took a seat at the library table. ‘Ah, yes. _Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter_.’ Twinkling eyes looked him over. ‘Is that your own wish, Will? To do some great thing? What shall it be, I wonder?’

Bristling, Will muttered, ‘To be in charge of my own destiny would be a good beginning.’

‘Ah, but _no man or woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny_.’

Returning the book to the shelf he had chosen for it, slotted into place beside Hannibal’s copy of The Odyssey, Will sniffed dismissively. ‘Is it your wish to impress with the breadth of your memory?’

‘My, my.’ Sitting up straighter, Mr Dimmond chuckled. ‘Hannibal was right about you.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ glowered Will, barely placated when Mr Dimmond held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘What is your meaning, sir?’

‘Merely that you do not suffer fools gladly, and I would do well to deal with you forthrightly.’

‘Oh.’ The compliment that such words carried was not lost on Will, and the fight drained from him instantly.

‘I have a proposition.’ Steepling his fingers, Mr Dimmond looked Will squarely in the eyes. ‘You stop staring at me with disdain, and I will endeavour to prove myself worthy of your time.’ 

Will returned his gaze unwaveringly. ‘Very well, Mr Dimmond. Please, proceed.’

After that, he listened and debated with perfect equanimity. Hannibal had been right - Anthony Dimmond had a first rate mind, and a keen intellect. Not as sharp or refined as Hannibal’s; but by the time their first session had drawn to a close, Will was confident that here at last was a teacher worthy of the title.

***

April gave way to May, May slid into June, and before he knew it, Will was startled to realise that he had been a full three months in London. How quickly it had flown. Mornings of accepting or paying calls; afternoons of tutoring, or being measured for new clothes (despite the best of his protests), or walking in the park; and night after night of balls and parties. It was exhausting. Every activity seemed an exercise in seeing and being seen - although the Hobbs family continued to be elusive. Given that Hannibal’s reactions had suggested some sort of rift, this was not altogether unsurprising, although Will continued to harbour a curiosity about the situation and a wish to meet again with the charming Miss Hobbs.

Rare were the times when he and Hannibal would dine together without additional company of some sort, most often the Crawfords; and when they did eat alone, the wall of reserve that Hannibal had thrown up between them after the night of the opera seemed only to grow in stature. Oh, he was always perfectly amiable, even gregarious; but absent were the moments of intimacy and the occasional touches that had characterised their earliest interactions. They had, Will supposed, now grown into their respective roles of guardian and ward. And if sometimes his traitorous heart thudded at the memory of a warm body next to his on a cold night, or the gentle press of a palm against his cheek by candlelight, or the soft comfort of a thumb stroking through his hair, he would seek distraction until the ache subsided. 

As for the fate of Wolf Hall, that subject had not been broached for many weeks; and Will could not bring himself to ask whether his home belonged now to someone else, lest he bruise the delicate peace.

One morning in mid-July, Hannibal announced his intention to hold a summer ball at Chrysalis House.

‘A fortnight hence. It is past time that I returned the ample hospitality we have been enjoying these last months,’ he declared, sawing through the top of his boiled egg with, to Will’s admiring eyes, almost surgical precision.

‘I agree, although I confess to feeling a little wearied of parties.’ 

‘Wearied of parties at only just nineteen? What an uncommon young man you are, Will.’

Unaccountably annoyed by this flippancy, Will replied testily, ‘Would you rather I ran with the herd? Mason Verger and his crowd, for instance? They will be returning soon from Oxford for the summer, I hear.’

This was unwelcome news, particularly as it was now generally known that Matthew Brown was a member of that infamous set, but Hannibal allowed none of his displeasure to show. ‘Certainly not. And although etiquette demands that I invite the Vergers to the ball, I have no intention of according the same favour to Mason Verger’s _herd_.’

The only response he received was a shrug. As this was marginally better than a protest, Hannibal allowed it to pass.

‘You might also consider going now into half-mourning,’ he said, adding more gently. ‘It has been three months, Will.’

‘I know.’ Will pushed around the sausages on his plate. ‘I shall consider it.’

‘I thought you might like new clothes for the ball. A waistcoat and tailcoat.’ And, as Will opened his mouth to protest, ‘Something in plum, perhaps, that you can wear thereafter to your thrifty heart’s content.’

Will speared a tomato. ‘There is nothing wrong with being thrifty, my lord,’ was his haughty reply before he bit into the fruit.

‘Oh, heavens, no. If you had your way, every household would be a model of economy.’ 

He noticed a stray bead of juice caught on Will’s lower lip, and absently reached over to wipe it away with his thumb. Too late, he realised his mistake, although for one instant he allowed himself the luxury of cataloguing sensations of warmth and petal softness before snatching back his hand.

‘Hannibal?’

How uncertain Will sounded. Uncertain and - hopeful? Mentally berating himself for such a thought, Hannibal issued a tight smile as he busied himself setting his cutlery together neatly in the centre of his plate. He had not worked so hard all these months to erase the memory of an almost calamitous moment of temptation, only to be undone by a wretched piece of fruit at breakfast.

‘Time to get on. There is much to do.’ Briskly, he rang the bell to summon Umber, who appeared moments later. Hannibal had never been so glad of his butler’s devotion to duty. ‘Umber, send to Fuller’s for two dozen invitation cards. The usual paper. Mr Graham and I shall be writing them ourselves.’

‘We shall?’ 

‘Of course. And tomorrow we shall deliver them in person.’ He almost laughed at Will’s look of incredulity. ‘It is the custom, Will.’

‘If we had attempted that in Derbyshire, it would have taken a fortnight to get around everybody.’

They shared a smile, and Hannibal felt the previous tension ease away. 

***

The week that followed was a flurry of preparation - quite apart from the business of the invitations, there were flowers to order, musicians to employ, and extravagant menus to plan. By the start of the second week, all the guests had responded, and all had accepted. The seldom-used ballroom on the first floor, situated ideally between the dining room and breakfast room, was opened up for a good airing; the guests would be fed in the smaller rooms, and afterwards would be at liberty to return to the dancing as often as they liked.

As for that, Hannibal had in mind something that would guarantee a memorable evening. Yet for his plan to succeed, he required Will’s help in a manner which gave him pause. This uncharacteristic indecision continued until two days before the ball, when both stood surveying the newly-polished floor.

‘We had no ballroom at Wolf Hall,’ mused Will. ‘It would have been impractical with such low ceilings.’ His eyes tracked upwards. ‘Here there is ample space and light. The candles will hardly be needed for most of the evening.’

Hannibal swept the room with a final assessing look. ‘Once the flowers have been set in place, it will do well enough. But for a real ballroom, you must see the one which my father designed.’

‘At Raven House? I should like that.’

Strange how much that warmed him. Worrying, too, how every day he grew more impatient to spirit Will away to Cambridgeshire - to escape the frantic pace of city life and its interminable Season; to eschew once and for all the likes of Hobbs, Brown and Verger; to forget everything and everyone else, and spend his days wandering the estate with his ward, introducing him to all of its beauties while rediscovering them anew himself; to truly get to know this fascinating, exasperating boy, and be known fully by him in return. It was an ache that demanded to be salved, a hunger that demanded to be assuaged. It was a line that, once crossed, Hannibal knew full well would take them into territory that his conscience would not be able to tolerate. And so here they remained.

‘I have been instructed to enquire as to the nature of the first dance,’ commented Will.

‘Oh? By whom?’

‘Margot.’ As always when he spoke of his closest friend, Will’s face lit with affection. And Hannibal despised himself for the stab of envy which that look provoked. ‘She informed me yesterday that the duration of the dance will determine whose offer she accepts.’

‘Coincidentally,’ a slight smile, and the decision with which he had been wrestling for untold days was made, ‘I was thinking of something a little different from the standard choices. Tell me, Will, do you know how to waltz?’

The widening of Will’s eyes was answer enough. ‘Do you?’

‘In theory - the German waltz, at least. It has not yet been practised at court, and so has proven difficult to popularise amongst my acquaintance. I consider it high time that situation was changed.’ He directed at his ward a look of teasing challenge. ‘What say you? Shall we learn together?’

‘You mean dance with each other?’ The slow flush that spread across Will’s cheeks was most becoming. 

‘In order to perfect the steps, I see no other choice.’ How easily the lie slipped free. Bedelia de Maurier was a proficient in all forms of the waltz, and would surely have agreed to tutor them both. But Will did not know that. And the temptation to give in to what was a harmless exercise in closeness was too great. ‘Are you game?’

Will’s assent given in the form of a slightly awkward nod, Hannibal stepped closer before he could change his own mind, and slid his right hand around Will’s slender waist to press at the small of his back. They faced each other now, and Hannibal had the strangest notion that their hearts were suddenly beating in time. His own was thumping mortifyingly hard, as if unaware that its owner was an experienced man of seven-and-forty and not a milksop boy.

‘Well, then.’ Clearing the huskiness from his throat, Hannibal tightened his grip a fraction. ‘Let us proceed.’

Will was a delightfully responsive partner, mastering with ease each step, turn and attitude. His touch was light at Hannibal’s waist, almost frustratingly so, even as their bodies were pulled almost flush together by the sweeping arc of arms meeting above their heads. Hannibal murmured each instruction from memory, until repetition rendered them unnecessary. Until the only things of which he was conscious were the ripple of youthful muscles beneath his fingertips, the warmth of a small palm curling against his, the clear blue of eyes that brimmed with questions. 

Gradually their movements slowed, gazes clinging, arms all but wrapped around each other. Will’s smile was tentative, and Hannibal was lost in the sweetness of it. So much so that he did not attempt evasion when the boy leaned in, tilted his head, and brushed the softest of kisses against Hannibal’s lips.

There was an instant, just one, when Will felt certain that Hannibal would return the kiss that dizzy impulse had prompted him to bestow. A breathless instant when the sensual lips beneath his own parted slightly, and the hands at his waist tightened. But then he was thrust abruptly away, the moment shattered. And with it, Will’s composure.

‘I am sorry,’ he stammered, eyes fearful on his guardian’s suddenly stony countenance. ‘I thought that you - that we -’

If possible, Hannibal’s expression grew even more forbidding. ‘You thought wrongly,’ he ground out, and Will stood frozen, nausea rising, as he was left alone to the kaleidoscopic censure of his own reflection in mirrors and windows alike. Hannibal’s footsteps rang through the house, each fading step mocking Will’s gaucheness.

What could a man of such consequence and sophistication possibly desire in the orphan of a disgraced baron? To be sure, guilt over his part in that orphan’s loss of consequence had prompted Hannibal to shoulder responsibility for him - he had all but admitted as much. But beyond that…

_Will Graham, you were a fool to mistake a few sympathetic touches for sincere affection._


	8. Chapter 8

Intolerable to remain in a house which, large as it was, seemed suddenly a cramped cage in which he could, at any moment, come again face to face with his reproachful guardian. It was yet barely afternoon; and deciding to take a chance that Margot would be at home, Will sought out Umber and declared his intention to call on his friend, should Lord Raven deign to enquire as to his whereabouts. 

The evenings were now dewy warm; and although for propriety’s sake Will donned his hat, no other addition was necessary. Unfortunately, the brisk ten minute walk to Grosvenor Street did little to calm Will’s turmoil, and he was still in a state of agitation when he was shown into the small drawing room of the Verger lodging. To his further perturbation, it was not Margot who greeted his anxious gaze, but Mason, who looked over him with lazy curiosity from the Chesterfield on which he lounged, glass in hand.

‘What a surprise. Do sit down, Mr Graham. Take some wine.’ He gestured vaguely in the direction of the sideboard. From his general demeanor and slight slurring, it was clear that Mason had taken more than his own share already.

Will ignored him, turning instead to the servant who lingered still in the doorway. ‘Would you please inform Miss Verger that I am here?’

‘Miss Verger,’ drawled Mason, ‘is currently hounding the dressmaker with the assistance of little Miss Bloom. And from there, they will go on to the milliner’s. What a tremendous amount of fuss everyone is making over this rout of Lecter’s.’

Bristling at the derogatory term, Will nevertheless swallowed his instinctive protest. Why go out of his way to defend Hannibal after the events of the day? Instead, he redirected the conversation. ‘She is with Miss Bloom, you say?’

‘Mm.’ There was a glint in Mason’s eyes that Will could not fully interpret, but that made him unaccountably uneasy. ‘Thick as thieves, the two of them.’ Mason cast aside his empty glass, stood up, and stretched with careless regard for decorum. ‘Well now, I have cooled my heels here long enough. What say _you_ to a little diversion, Mr Graham? Perchance something a little more thrilling than hats and ribbons?’

Under any other circumstances, never would Will have considered accompanying Mason Verger anywhere. But the sting of Hannibal’s rejection was yet fresh, the urge to hit back too strong. Still, he hesitated. ‘You were waiting for someone else to accompany you.’

‘Not any more.’ There was an all-too familiar sulkiness in Mason’s tone now. ‘I detest tardiness.’

‘Will your friend not mind me taking their place?’

Mason smirked. ‘I daresay he might. He should not have kept me waiting, then, should he?’

***

Their destination was not far, and Will followed Mason through zigzagging, bustling streets to a house of similar proportions to the Vergers’. Except that according to Mason, this was a permanent residence, and its owner in possession of a title as well as the property. 

‘What manner of diversion is this, exactly?’ asked Will, as they waited to be granted entrance.

With immaculate timing, a long-faced servant with a carefully blank expression swung open the door and ushered them wordlessly through to a small parlour. Mason was evidently unsurprised by this peculiar reception, helping himself to a glass of ruby wine as soon as they were again alone. He gestured questioningly at Will. On the point of issuing an automatic refusal, Will found himself nodding assent, and within moments he had in his hand a ridiculously large goblet. Before he could change his mind, he took a long draw that he knew Hannibal would consider criminally lacking in appreciation or finesse. Since the opera, he had taught Will much about vintages and bouquets, and the proper way to savour a fine wine. This particular wine, Will decided, was undeserving of a delicate touch. Slightly sour, with an edge of cheapness. Their host’s extravagance seemed confined to the rather vulgar furnishings. He turned to comment so to Hannibal, before remembering, and took another long drink instead.

‘Careful.’ Mason, rather uncharacteristically cradling a still-full glass, raised his eyebrows in casual contempt. ‘If you lose your wits in here, you will find yourself losing far more in there.’ And with a jerk of his head, he indicated a door to their right.

Will frowned. ‘Am I to guess what this is about or shall you tell me before I change my mind about wanting diversion?’

‘Ah. You do not relish anticipation. How very dull.’ 

Mason was enjoying himself far too much, Will decided, and at his expense. He had almost made up his mind to leave when the mysterious door opened, and the same rather menacing-looking servant as before indicated for them to enter the room beyond. Sheer curiosity propelled Will forward, and black horror stopped him at the threshold. Velvet-draped tables, occupied by desperate-eyed men hunched over cards or dice or wheels… 

Turning on Mason, Will hissed in outrage, ‘You brought me to a gambling den?’

‘Dear me, Graham. You really must learn to control this confounded fear of yours.’

‘I am not afraid!’ A few people looked up, one tsk’d, and Will pulled Mason aside, lowering his voice with some effort. ‘But I have no appetite for the sort of _diversion_ that ruined my father. This is low behaviour even for you, Mason.’

This was met with a sneer. ‘Such drama. Here is no gambling den, you ridiculous child. It is merely entertainment in a private house, such as you will find in every civilised person’s drawing room after dinner. Besides, a little light gaming might just be what you need: the hair of the dog that bit you, and all that. Well, your hysterics have bored me enough.’ With a dismissive head toss, Mason moved to an adjacent empty table, pulled out one chair, and deposited himself in another. Taking from the centre of the table a stack of cards, he began shuffling them. ‘Are you game? Or do you require permission from your esteemed guardian first?’

‘I require _nothing_ from him.’ As valiantly as Will tried to keep emotion from his voice, something must have given him away, for Mason’s expression acquired an edge of cunning calculation.

‘Good for you. Sometimes it is good to push against parental expectations.’

‘Hannibal is _not_ my father.’ Too late, Will realised the trap that he had fallen into. Mindful of Hannibal’s warnings about the Vergers’ propensity for gossip, he took the offered seat and assumed a scornful air. ‘I had one of those and he was one too many. I am determined now to be my own master in every way possible.’

The speculative gleam in Mason’s eyes died, replaced again by boredom. As this suited Will very well, he took not the slightest umbrage. Indeed, after another mouthful of wine, he was beginning to feel almost cheerful.

‘What are we playing?’

‘That depends. Some games are made more… scintillating by the addition of a little monetary incentive.’ He held up a hand to forestall any protest. ‘Note I say _little_. For fun, if you can imagine such a thing.’ 

Fun was not, in truth, a concept of which Will had much experience. Hannibal had introduced him to many new things: art, culture, dancing… But frivolity? Playfulness? Those seemed to be concepts alien to _him_. Mouth pursing in mutinous obstinance, Will asserted, ‘I can. And I should like to try it for myself.’

Leaning across the table, Mason sneered, ‘How touching. But remember what I said. Low stakes or not - you play, you pay. The question is, have you the means?’

Will felt his cheeks warm. Of course he had not, as Mason must surely have suspected. But in the next moment, the rules of their own little game changed again.

‘Well now, what have we here?’ A familiar voice, hands on his shoulders, and Will stiffened in instinctive outrage as he looked up into the grinning face of Matty Brown. ‘Now I understand why Mason left me standing on the doorstep.’

‘Tush, man. You were nowhere to be seen and I had been waiting an age.’

‘No matter.’ Sliding into the remaining free seat, Matty winked at Will. ‘This is better by far.’

‘I had better go.’ Will almost upended his chair in his haste to rise. ‘As I have not the means to pay, and Mr Brown has now kept his appointment, it seems the prudent course.’

‘Prudent.’ Mason almost spat the word. 

‘No, no. Will is quite right.’

Surprised and grateful, Will turned to his estranged friend. ‘Then you will take my place?’

‘I could.’ A hint of wheedling coloured Matty’s voice. ‘Or you could stay for a hand or two and allow me to vouch for you. Have a little fun. What say you, Will? It is entirely your choice to make.’

His choice. For the first time in months, his alone. No one here to tell him that it was _wrong_. To thrust him away in outright rejection…

He righted his chair, sat back down, and took another hefty swallow of wine. ‘Why not?’

***

At seven o’clock, Hannibal had been concerned. By ten o’clock, he was livid. But when the chimes of the hall clock signalled midnight, anger tipped over into fear. It was not unknown for gentlefolk to wander from the safer streets and fall into the clutches of those whose lives had rendered them savage in intent. 

This agonising wait could, of course, have been avoided altogether. If he had gone to the Vergers’ in pursuit; if he had not walked away in the first place; if he had given rein to his desire and returned Will’s kiss…

But how vile it would have been to have taken advantage of him in such a way. Hero worship, a passing fancy - whatever it was, Will would hardly have thanked him for acting on it once the boy had come to his senses and found himself saddled with an ageing lover. A poor return indeed for one as young and vital and beautiful as Will Graham.

A pounding on the front door interrupted Hannibal’s brooding thoughts. No time to pull on his tailcoat. After the second knock, he was up and out of his study, and from the top of the stairs he signalled to an extremely stern-looking Umber to return to his quarters. 

Thus it was that upon opening the door with deliberate swiftness, he found himself with an armful of very flushed, very intoxicated boy. 

‘Hell’s teeth,’ he growled, dragging his ward inside and closing the door with a hefty kick. ‘How did you come to be in such a state?’

Unfocused eyes blinked up at him. ‘Celebration.’ And Will smeared a grin into Hannibal’s waistcoat. ‘I won.’

Biting back several more curses, Hannibal bent to grip Will’s legs, and hoisted the boy up over his shoulder. The temptation to bestow a sharp slap on the pert bottom wriggling in a manner wholly provocative was not inconsiderable.

‘Remain still.’

‘I wish to walk.’

If Hannibal had not been so angry then those words, uttered in exaggeratedly careful yet muffled tones against his back, would have struck him as comical. But he was angry. Unutterably so. However this had come about, whatever excuses were yet to come tumbling from Will’s lips, the fact remained that the boy had disappeared for hours on end and returned in a shocking state of inebriation. Thoughts of what might have happened to him while in such a vulnerable condition sent Hannibal’s blood running cold. 

‘Cease.’ 

This thunderous rumble was apparently enough to finally subdue the boy, and within a few minutes Hannibal was shouldering open the door to Will’s bedchamber. Freeing himself from his burden was no easy feat - Will had suddenly become all arms and legs, spilling onto the bed before crawling around in an attempt to cling on to whatever parts of Hannibal he could reach.

‘Damnation.’ This uttered through gritted teeth. For as soon as Hannibal untwined one limb, another fastened around him. He tipped off-balance, ending on his side almost nose to nose with his smirking charge. Will reeked of cigars and stale air: his breath, while thankfully free of noxious smoke, was practically an exercise in intoxication. Never had Hannibal felt so at a loss.

‘See?’ Will actually wriggled closer. ‘Being together like this is not so bad.’

It quickly became necessary to put his hands on Will’s hips in order to prevent further contact. ‘I never said that -’ He sighed, for had not he indeed given exactly that impression? 

‘You said that I was wrong.’ 

‘Do not cry,’ ordered Hannibal with rising alarm, but Will’s response to this was to make an extremely rude noise. 

‘ _You_ do not cry.’

The conversation had, decided Hannibal, reached its nonsensical limit. ‘I am prepared to accept some responsibility for this. But by heavens,’ he breathed, ‘you deserve a thrashing for your antics today.’

To Hannibal’s immense perturbation, Will caught his lower lip between his teeth before releasing it slowly, looking up through his lashes, and breathing, ‘Promises.’

This provoked a mortifying twitch in Hannibal’s already misbehaving cock. Hovering on the brink of discarding every one of his good intentions and crushing wine-sweetened, teeth-worried lips beneath his own, Hannibal drew a ragged breath and practically threw himself from the bed.

‘We,’ he hissed, straightening his waistcoat and running hands through his disordered hair, ‘shall speak again tomorrow, when you are in your right senses. Until then, you are not to move from this room. Am I understood?’

‘You are,’ sighed Will with a giggle. He stretched his arms up over his head and toyed with a long curl, gazing at Hannibal in the most ridiculously dreamy fashion. ‘Mm. Most very understood.’

To say that it took every ounce of willpower in Hannibal’s possession to walk away and close the door quietly behind him was no exaggeration.


	9. Chapter 9

Sleep proved to be elusive for the remainder of the night. Just after dawn, Hannibal took himself off for a lengthy walk through the mainly deserted streets; and although his boots were caked in dust by the time he returned, his body felt all the better for the vigorous exercise.

‘Where is Mr Graham?’ 

Umber, arms laden with flowers, paused by the staircase and glanced up expressively. In the ordinary way, by almost nine o’clock, Will would have been done with breakfast. In the time that Hannibal had known him, the boy had proven to be a confoundedly early riser.

‘I see. Then when you have relieved yourself of those, I would ask that you summon Mr Graham’s valet and instruct him to wake his master without delay.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

A brisk wash and a change of clothes later, Hannibal was sorting correspondence in his study when a slow drag of feet on the stairs above alerted him to the presence of his errant ward. Replacing the bundle of letters on his desk, he called out in a quiet but firm voice.

‘My study, Will.’

To his credit, Will did appear suitably shame-faced when he shuffled into the room. The shadows beneath his eyes lent him an air of fragility that Hannibal hardened his heart against. They were, after all, entirely self-inflicted. 

‘You would be wise to take some air in the garden later. And be certain that you eat well. Tomorrow will be a full day. No time to spare for -’ he paused, and finished, acidly, ‘recovery.’

‘I am aware that I did not acquit myself with honour yesterday.’ Sombre eyes sought Hannibal’s. ‘For that, I apologise. To speak truth, my memory of events is rather hazy, but I was given to understand by Peter that I arrived home very late.’

Hannibal was warmed by Will’s casual reference to Chrysalis House as his home, yet he fought against the tender feeling. 

Folding his arms, he leaned back against the desk and directed at the boy his sternest look. ‘Tell me what you _can_ remember.’

‘Well, after I left,’ and here Will coloured delicately, ‘I did go to Grosvenor Street with every intention of seeing Margot, but she was from home. Her brother was just going out, and he suggested that I might like to accompany him.’

Hannibal huffed in disbelief. ‘So off you trotted? With _Mason Verger_?’

‘I could not bring myself to return here,’ snapped Will, flush increasing. ‘Not so soon after -’

‘Very well.’ Hannibal set his jaw. He was no more eager than Will to discuss what had occurred between them in the ballroom. ‘Dare I ask where Verger took you?’

A crease formed between Will’s brows. ‘I do not recall the exact address. It was in Mayfair, not far at all.’

‘A house party, judging by the poor shape in which you returned.’

‘Of a sort, yes.’ 

‘Will,’ clicking his tongue in irritation. ‘Obfuscation shall not help your cause.’

This provoked a frustrated shrug. ‘I was not introduced to the host, and there was little mingling among the guests, but entertainment and refreshments were plentiful.’

‘I need no convincing that there was a profusion of drink,’ clipped Hannibal. ‘What manner of entertainment was provided?’

The apprehension in Will’s eyes was not encouraging. ‘Games.’

‘Cards and so forth? Such is the usual form at parties.’

‘Yes, but in this case one could play only if one had the - means.’

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. ‘Money?’

‘I - yes.’

Holding on to his temper with an effort, Hannibal sought to clarify, once and for all. ‘You are telling me that you spent the better part of last night _gambling_?’ 

‘ _You_ would lecture me on the topic?’ Gone now was contrition, replaced by open scorn.

Straightening up, Hannibal took a step forward. ‘As I have the _means_ to play, yes, I do. Last night, you told me that you had won. How much, exactly?’

Will’s gaze dropped. ‘Twenty pounds.’

Hannibal’s breath hissed between his teeth. ‘I see. Enough to pay your valet’s wage for a year. Or furnish yourself with an entire new wardrobe of clothes. How fortunate for you. Yet what, I wonder, were you intending to do had you lost?’

The colour in Will’s cheeks grew more hectic by the moment. ‘I do still own _some_ possessions, Lord Raven. I would have made good on my debt.’

In frustrated wonder, Hannibal shook his head. ‘Barely nineteen and you speak of debt? How like -’

‘Do not you _dare_ say that I am like my father!’ 

Here again was the resentful whirlwind of their initial acquaintance. Hannibal pinned him with a hard stare. ‘I was about to say how like a gauche youth, to imagine that such problems are so easily swept away.’

‘When one is playing for coin rather than _estates_ , they are.’ 

In the next instant, Will looked almost regretful, but Hannibal was done with him.

‘I should have given you the paddling you so richly deserved last night,’ he snarled. ‘I told you once before that I will not be your whipping boy. Throw this in my face again, and I shall not be answerable for the consequences.’ And before he _should_ do something that he might later regret, he strode from the room.

***

It was all very well, Will mused, to stand on principle, but he had to admit that it was a lonely position to occupy. Particularly at a ball which one was meant to be co-hosting, yet at which one’s fellow host was conducting himself with noticeable separateness.

Even among the throng of extravagantly-clad guests, who chattered and exclaimed and laughed in an endless weaving game of popularity, he felt alone. The Vergers had not yet arrived - a mixed blessing, for while he longed to see Margot and give vent to his grievances, he was in no hurry to meet again with Mason. At least he would be spared the complication of Matty’s presence. Piecing together his memories of the evening, he had drawn the conclusion that his old friend had acted chivalrously throughout, even escorting him back to the front steps of Chrysalis House after Mason had abandoned them both to go on to yet another party. Yet given Hannibal’s intransigent attitude towards Matty - not to mention his current dour mood - the best course all around was to keep the two apart. He certainly had no intention of confessing Matty’s involvement in the proceedings, after having fallen so foul of Hannibal’s temper already. 

Taking up a position by one of the front-facing windows, Will was relieved when finally he spotted Margot descending from a carriage that had stopped a little way down the street behind half a dozen others which were also currently spilling their occupants onto the pavement. He hurried through to the entrance hall, taking care to stay out of Hannibal’s line of vision, his guardian busy greeting the final set of guests as one by one they swept into the house.

Will was able to catch Margot’s eye as she waited in line behind her father. While Molson Verger exchanged words with Hannibal, Mason stood to one side with his usual expression of semi-boredom. It was with a grimace of relief that Margot hurried across to join Will. 

‘Please save me from strangling them,’ she muttered, casting a dark glance backwards. ‘They have both been in high dudgeon all day. Goodness knows why - and little do I care - but having to live with such moroseness is intolerable.’

‘Ha. I know very well what _that_ is like.’

The fervency of Will’s tone drew from his best friend a look of surprise. ‘Why? What has happened?’

Conscious of Hannibal’s relative proximity, Will intimated for Margot to follow him into the ballroom, where expectancy hung heavy in the air as the musicians began their warm-up. And there, in an unoccupied corner, he told her all that had occurred. She listened without interruption, expression as always free of judgement. 

‘ _‘I shall not be answerable for the consequences.’_ And he has spoken not one word to me since. We were together at dinner last night and he was deathly silent. All of his other meals, he has taken in his study. He spent the whole of yesterday and this morning either locked away in there, or stomping around barking orders at the butler.’ 

Will omitted to say how piqued he had been that Hannibal had ignored him right up to the commencement of the ball. He had harboured a secret hope that he might at least have earned a nod of approval for the effort he had made in allowing Peter to fuss and bustle around him for full an hour, coaxing his wild hair into a fashionable quiff, and ensuring that for once he was turned out impeccably, from the velvet collar of his high-waisted coat of rich plum to the gleaming black tips of his Hessian boots - both of which items, Hannibal had insisted upon ordering for this very evening. Yet upon Will’s descent from the third floor, his guardian had merely glanced at him, scowled, and looked dismissively away again. While Will, to his deep chagrin, had been unable to prevent himself from gaping at the striking picture Hannibal presented, formidable in maroon and black, hair combed back severely, emphasising the stark beauty of his bone structure.

‘Ordinarily, I would be surprised, very much surprised. Will Graham, keeping company with my toad of a brother? Will Graham, drinking to excess? Will Graham, _gaming_?’

Will winced. ‘It is not that I am proud of myself, Margot. Quite the opposite. But when _he_ saw fit to criticise -’

‘I understand.’ Margot offered a smile of sympathy. ‘Yet he _is_ your guardian, Will.’

‘I am aware.’

‘Are you? Truly?’ Shrewd green eyes met his. ‘You _kissed_ him. Or attempted to.’

‘Do not repeat it.’ Flushing, Will hissed the plea, eyes scanning the area but thankfully not finding Hannibal anywhere present. ‘That was a - a momentary madness.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Margot pushed, ‘it happened. And the fact that it did tells me that you do not, in fact, regard Lord Raven as your guardian. Has anything else of this nature happened between you?’

To this question, Will had no reply except, ‘Not a kiss.’ His sheepish look was pounced on immediately.

‘Then I consider my point made. In fact,’ added Margot thoughtfully, ‘I believe I understand now why you acted in the way you did after his rejection.’

‘Then perhaps you would care to enlighten me. Because I have not the faintest idea.’

‘Oh, Will.’ She bestowed on him then the gentlest of smiles. ‘You sought distraction - any distraction - rather than face up to the fact that you are falling for him.’ 

Will stared at her, aghast. ‘That is ridiculous.’ 

‘Why?’

‘You ask me that?’ He choked out a laugh. ‘Margot, have you lost your senses?’

Margot moved in on him, chin jutting with determination. ‘I watched you with him on the night of Lord Cley’s party. The way you gravitated to him. And then there was your reaction when he danced with Lady Bedelia. Even after Matty appeared, all you wished to talk about was Lord Raven.’

‘Nonsense.’ A strange panic was bubbling up inside. ‘I will admit that I esteem him greatly - he has been very kind to me, Margot. And there is no denying that he is attractive.’

‘Do not you dare say _but_.’

‘Of course I shall! For as you so rightly pointed out, he is my guardian. Far beyond me in station and experience. And he has a great estate - he must marry someone who can give him heirs.’

‘Oh, Will.’ Margot’s voice softened. And when he would have walked away, she stayed him with the lightest touch. ‘My poor, dear friend, do not you see? Everything you have just said tells me not that you _do_ not love him, but that you _will_ not.’ 

Will swallowed. ‘There is a difference?’

‘Oh yes.’ And the sadness in Margot’s face spoke of more than mere sympathy. ‘There is a very great difference, as I fear you are about to realise.’

***

Predictably, Lady Bedelia was the last to arrive. In the usual way, Hannibal would have allowed Umber to scoop up latecomers, but tonight his good friend’s tardiness served as an excellent excuse to linger in the foyer. 

How it was possible that Will was growing more beautiful by the day, he did not know. But when he had seen the boy standing at the top of the second floor staircase, pink-cheeked, tousle-haired and unaccountably shy, it had taken everything in his power not to go to him. And had he done so, how would he have been able to resist cupping that stubborn jaw, drawing him close, and taking what Will had before offered so sweetly? No, far better to keep his distance until this terrible urge had abated. 

‘Hannibal, my apologies. Have I kept you? How remiss of me.’ 

Despite the lazy carelessness of Bedelia’s greeting, Hannibal turned to her with a smile, bowing to touch his lips lightly to her proffered hand. ‘Lady Bedelia, you are as always a vision. And well worth the wait. Umber, you may instruct the musicians to commence the first dance.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Umber looks very cross tonight,’ commented Bedelia, as they followed the butler at a sedate pace.

‘My fault, not yours.’ Hannibal tucked Bedelia’s arm through his, leaning in to whisper as they entered the ballroom, ‘I have been rather a bear these past few days.’

The music struck up, and with determined focus on Bedelia alone, Hannibal led her to the centre of the floor.

‘A waltz? That will ruffle a few feathers,’ she murmured, looking nevertheless rather pleased.

‘Is not that the idea?’ 

As they moved together with the ease of long familiarity, Hannibal reflected on the irony of the situation. Lady Bedelia was, in every sense, his equal. Everything he could possibly want, on or off the dance floor. And although it remained unspoken between them, he knew that she looked on him still with an eye of favour. Yet try as he might, he could not but wish that he was at this moment holding in his arms the prickly creature whose lethal glare he could feel from across the room. 

Murmurs rippled through the onlooking guests; but if any were of disapproval over such a shockingly intimate display, such feelings were quickly put aside as the first figure was completed, and couple after couple took to the floor to join the whirling dance. Soon all but a stubborn few were participating, although more than one embarrassed shriek could be heard as those less familiar with the steps foundered.

Not so Will. Slender frame straight, coat tails flying behind him, he moved with light-footed grace. His partner, Miss Verger, appeared to be adept at the waltz herself, and it flashed through Hannibal’s mind that perhaps Will had also been withholding when it had come to the question of learning the steps.

_Clever boy._

‘Your young ward is a proficient dancer,’ remarked Bedelia. ‘How did he learn?’

Immediately, Hannibal’s guard was up. ‘In the usual way, I would imagine.’ 

Cat-like eyes assessed him coolly. ‘You are clearly very proud of the child, given that you cannot keep your eyes from him.’

Hannibal’s lips tightened, but he missed not a beat as they moved into the next turn.

‘Will has had much to endure. Naturally I am proud of him.’

‘And of his ability to make friends, I am sure.’ Bedelia darted at him a sly glance. ‘I heard that he was a great success at Lord Shriver’s the other evening.’

The confirmation of Hannibal’s secret fear drove through his heart a spike of ice. Mason had manoeuvred Will with quite diabolical adeptness. ‘Did you?’

‘I admit it surprised me that our young lord would have even set foot inside that house, given the unfortunate connection.’ And she laughed lightly. ‘But as dear Molson said, how nice that all is now forgiven.’ 

‘Oh, it is.’ Hannibal spun them from the inner circle to join those twirling at the fringes. ‘Forgiven and very much best forgotten.’ The look that he gave her was steely, his tone conversational yet implacable. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Of course. Say no more, dearest. I am discretion itself,’ she cooed, but there was a venomous edge to her smile as the dance ended and they parted ways.

It had been clear to Hannibal from the outset that Will was unaware of the finer details of his father’s death, for the worst that he had ever accused Hannibal of had been the acceptance of that final, infamous bet. Had he known that Lord Wolf had died practically in Hannibal’s arms, beside the very table at which the bet had been made and lost, he would surely have had questions, to say the least. And now, to learn that Mason Verger had taken Will to the scene of his father’s disgrace, to expose him to speculation and censure by encouraging him to tread the same path… Well, rightly or wrongly, it was not Hannibal’s intention to enlighten him on either score. For what good could possibly come from such cruelty? Yet with deception - even when it was well-intentioned - came risk. A fact that his ex-lover was clearly prepared to exploit.

Hannibal was barely aware of the cacophony surrounding him as he sought out his butler, and issued a set of terse instructions before returning to the ballroom. Bedelia was now dancing with Frederick Chilton, thankfully a good distance from Will, Miss Verger and Miss Bloom, who stood sampling punch by an open window. Will’s animated countenance was a pleasure to behold. Yet more than ever, Hannibal felt the necessity of staying away from him. No need to provoke Bedelia into rashness if it could be avoided. He made instead for Jack and Bella Crawford, the latter of whom he had engaged for the second dance, and apologised profusely for his tardiness.

‘No matter,’ she smiled, accepting his hand. ‘Are not the steps the same few repeated over and over? Ah, these modern dances. Now give me a cotillion or a scotch reel, and my Jack will show you true footwork. Is not that so, my dear?’

‘You make us sound intolerably old-fashioned,’ chuckled Jack. ‘Go - show these youngsters how to properly kick up their heels.’

It should have been a pleasure to share the floor with so generous a partner as Bella Crawford. Yet every move was now rote, every pleasantry forced. Bedelia’s poison was working its will; and for the next several hours at least, Hannibal knew that if he did not keep his wits about him, there was every chance it could prove fatal. 

***

‘Stop looking! Alana, please tell Will to stop _gazing_ at Lord Raven.’

‘Alana, please tell Margot to stop being _ridiculous_.’

Smiling at them both, the picture of English rose beauty in pastel muslin, Alana shook her head. ‘And deny myself such fun? I would not dream of it.’

The second dance was almost at its close, and after this would come dinner. The knowledge that he would be sitting close to Hannibal was already rubbing at his nerves. Such teasing as this, Will was decidedly _not_ in the mood for.

‘There you all are.’ 

Mason’s drawl stifled Will’s sharp retort, and with reluctance he turned. ‘Mason.’

‘Feeling better?’ Tonight, it seemed, it was Mason’s turn to be the worse for wear, cheeks blotchy and skin a sickly tinge which was exacerbated by his mustard-coloured coat.

‘Leave Will alone,’ warned Margot quietly. 

‘Margot, Margot.’ Spiteful eyes narrowed on a face grown pale. ‘You know better than that. Never give me instruction.’

Hating himself for having allowed Mason in, for having permitted himself the convenience of forgetting for one evening how truly foul a creature was the eldest child of Molson Verger, Will stepped up to him and set a hand to his shoulder. To the casual onlooker, it would appear a friendly greeting. None would notice the way his fingers dug into flesh beneath fine wool, or the ferocity burning behind his smile.

‘I shall give you this warning only once, Mason, so you would do well to listen. If ever again you speak to your sister, or touch her, in any way other than with kindness, I shall come for you. And when I do, I shall thrash you to within an inch of your miserable life.’ Face as close to Mason’s as he could tolerate, Will added with a hiss, ‘You have taken ill. You need to go home. Now.’

Something in his demeanour must have convinced, or perhaps Mason was indeed feeling sick; for with barely a muttered curse, he shook himself free and stalked from the room.

‘Margot, I am so sorry.’ With earnest eyes, Will sought her forgiveness. ‘How my behaviour lately must have pained you.’

‘You could never cause me pain, Will. My family alone has been culpable of such.’ 

Will caught her hand in a quick squeeze. ‘The dinner gong will sound any moment. Let us go in ahead of the crowd.’

***

Will had barely shown Alana and Margot to their places before the rest of the guests began drifting through. For this number of people, a single table had been deemed impractical, and so half a dozen round tables had been set up, with Hannibal’s occupying the central position. 

Margot was in the outer circle with her father, although she was now at least spared Mason’s presence, and Will knew that in company Molson would behave tolerably well.

On the table he would share with Hannibal, seats had been designated for Alana, Lord Cley, the Crawfords, Lady Bedelia, and Mrs Katherine Prurnell. The latter Will had been first introduced to when she had called on them at Chrysalis House shortly after Lord Cley’s ball. A great honour, apparently, for Mrs Prurnell was known as the matriarch of the Season. This despite the fact that her wife never attended social functions, and her father was rumoured to have made their vast fortune in trade. She sat at Hannibal’s right side, with Bella Crawford on his left. Will, sandwiched between Mrs Prurnell and Alana, attempted to evade the somewhat unfriendly scrutiny of Lady Bedelia by entrusting Alana to the affable attentions of Jack Crawford, while engaging Mrs Prurnell in a halting discourse on French poetry. Encouraged by the formidable lady’s genuine interest, Will grew gradually more confident, and they were debating the merits of Jacques Delille versus Évariste de Parny when Lord Cley, who was seated directly opposite Will, broke in.

‘Do not the English have poets enough for you, Mr Graham?’ 

‘Really, Frederick. Cannot the poor boy be allowed to enjoy Blake alongside Delille?’ 

Will was unsure whether to be grateful or irritated by Mrs Prurnell’s spirited intervention. How refreshing it would be if, for once, he was allowed to fight his own battles. He had railed against such protectiveness from Hannibal. Yet perversely, he felt his guardian’s current lack of interest keenly. 

Margot’s earlier assertion rang in his ears, and he risked a glance at Hannibal’s stern profile. The steady beat of his heart quickened traitorously, and he looked away again. 

‘Enjoyment is neither here nor there.’ Lord Cley attacked his artichoke with vigour. ‘It is a question of patriotism.’

Dragging his attention back to the conversation at hand, Will frowned. ‘How so, my lord? Napoleon has surrendered. The war is effectively over.’

Through a mouthful, Lord Cley observed, ‘And how many of our valiant fighting men have given their lives for such an outcome?’

Will’s voice hardened. ‘You think that they would wish away the appreciation of beauty as the price for their deaths?’

‘Of _French_ beauty? Pah. Certainly.’

‘Come, Frederick.’ Like the stirring of an indolent lion, Hannibal’s interjection drew immediately the attention of the whole table. ‘Were we all to be stripped of our French finery, this room would be cause for scandal of the highest order.’

There was enough of humour in his words to avoid obvious offence. Still, had Hannibal chosen to be more direct, Will had no doubt that the entire assembly, Lord Cley included, would have yielded to his point. Pride, fierce and bright, burned in his chest. And something else - a strange yearning to feel Hannibal’s gaze on _him_ again, to be his equal partner in conversation, to _matter_. 

‘What a thought.’ Impaling a quail’s egg, Lady Bedelia lifted it for her inspection as she murmured, ‘Trouble in the house of Raven. Who would dare create such?’

‘Who indeed?’

There was a curious tension in the looks that passed between Hannibal and Lady Bedelia. And Will decided that he liked it not one bit. It excluded all others, and although he certainly could not sense affection in the exchange, still there was an intimacy in their enmity that seared him.

He returned to his meal, but could summon no enthusiasm for the beautiful fare. Picking at his food, he listened half-heartedly as conversation around the table resumed, safe in its banality.

***

After dinner, the company divided into those who wished to recommence dancing and those for whom a friendly game of cards was more appealing after such a plentiful meal. A few of the gentlemen remained at the tables, slumped over their wine goblets, half-asleep from a mixture of fatigue and intoxication. Will, in no mood for any of these options, wandered back through to the ballroom with Margot and Alana; then, seeing them safely engaged in a dance, slipped out into the blessed coolness of the outer corridor. A tranquil hour in the library and he would venture back into the throng, surely without having been missed by anyone. Even had Hannibal been paying him the least attention, he had been recruited by the Crawfords into a game of whist, and would likely be occupied for some time. Feeling thus secure, Will made his way upstairs, sought his favourite chair, took up his favourite book, and settled down for an anticipated period of uninterrupted peace.

***

The chief advantage of having Bedelia as his whist partner was that as long as she was sitting under his nose, Hannibal could keep her from creating mischief. A few more hours, and the danger would have passed. The ball would come to an end, guests reclaimed by the night, house reclaimed for _them_. 

It took almost two hours to best the Crawfords, by which time Hannibal was eager to lay eyes again on Will. As unresolved as things were between them, it did not lessen his feeling of protectiveness. He was disconcerted, therefore, when an initial survey of the ballroom proved fruitless. So too the entrance hall, though there at least he found Umber. 

‘All is in hand, my lord.’ 

‘Very good.’ He looked around distractedly. Perhaps Will was taking the air. 

‘I believe that you will find Mr Graham in the library, my lord.’

Hannibal looked sharply at his butler, but his face was as impassive as always. ‘Thank you, Umber. Carry on.’

All was silent and still when he entered the library, but for the slightest flickering of candles, recently lit. Umber, of course. And there, haloed by the soft gold light, lay Will, curled up in an armchair. A large book lay open on the rug at his feet - given its sprawled position, it had likely slid from his lap - and Hannibal recognised it as the same leather-bound tome that Will had brought with him from Derbyshire. Moving quietly, he retrieved it and set it gently on the nearest table. The Iliad. Achilles and Patroclus. A battle-tested friendship unlike any other. Except, perhaps, theirs. With a contemplative hum, he returned his attention to Will. Chest rising and falling softly, the boy appeared deep in sleep, and Hannibal had not the heart to disturb him. It was surprising how easily his anger fell away when presented with this more vulnerable side of his ward. But what concerned him more was how difficult it was to walk away.

***

The candles were mere stubs by the time he returned, the last of the guests seen off as the sun struggled to begin its rise. Will remained in slumber, though he had shifted to nestle more securely within the confines of the chair.

With infinite tenderness, Hannibal crouched beside him, and smoothed back the quiff that had fallen across the boy’s forehead. Cheeks pinked from the warmth that had drifted up from the lower floors, lips parted slightly, he was a sight as lovely as any Boticelli. At Hannibal’s touch, he stirred slightly, and Hannibal hushed him. He eased one arm beneath Will’s knees, and secured the other around his back so that he bore the entirety of Will’s weight. Getting to his feet was no easy thing - Will was deceptively sturdy - but Hannibal managed it without overbalancing them both.

Will’s chamber door was already ajar, his bed covers turned down. Depositing the boy gently onto the mattress, Hannibal worked free his jacket and set it aside. It was relatively simple then to manoeuvre him onto his back and slip off shoes and stockings. He debated leaving the rest, but knelt instead to remove the neckcloth that would surely prove unduly constricting were Will to sleep in it all night. Whoever had tied the knots had gone to a deal of trouble to ensure that they would remain in place throughout the evening, and Hannibal lost himself to the task of coaxing loose each one. When finally he was satisfied that he had made Will as comfortable as he could without disturbing him unduly, he bent to bestow the lightest of kisses on one rosy cheek. Will huffed a sigh and turned his head; and as their lips connected, Hannibal ceased breathing. He allowed himself one agonising moment of savouring the sensations of soft plumpness pressing in unconscious invitation, and of grape-sweetened breath feathering his skin, before breaking the contact; but to his mingled delight and dismay, Will chased after him, head lifting from the pillow with a sound of sleepy protest. Hannibal cupped the boy’s nape, cradling him close as with his other hand he swept trembling fingers across a mouth sweetly seeking. 

Bending low, he growled, ‘It may be that you have defeated me, that I have reached the limit of my endurance in resisting you - but I would have you know what you do when I kiss you as you deserve to be kissed, my little wolf. So for now…’ Closing his lips over Will’s, he permitted himself only the lightest of tastes, and the moment he felt a seeking tongue tip against his own, he pulled back with a groan, climbing to suddenly unsteady feet. He did not linger or look back, but pulled the door softly to and retreated to his own chamber. And despite hearing the distant hall clock chime three, he knew that sleep would once again be an impossibility.

***

‘You look terrible.’

The genuine concern in Will’s voice prevented Hannibal from feeling too affronted, and he raised his coffee cup in wry salute. ‘Good morning to you, too. Well? How did you enjoy the ball?’

‘Well enough.’ Blue eyes observed him broodingly. ‘As you would know if you had spoken to me at all last night.’

Hannibal nodded in gracious assent. ‘I was still angry, but it was wrong of me to treat you so. Such behaviour was beneath me. Forgive me, Will?’

‘I - of course.’ Seeming caught between surprise and relief, Will took a step closer. ‘If _you_ will forgive _me_ for my unconscionable rudeness, my lord. My actions were wholly irresponsible and I should have owned them without excuse.’

‘It seems we must forgive each other, then.’ And Hannibal was warmed by the boy’s blushing smile.

He watched Will busy himself at the sideboard, gratified to see the amount of food being piled onto his plate. 

‘You have an appetite again.’

‘I made sure not to drink more than two glasses last night.’ Brows raised, Will slid into his customary seat. ‘Your pallor makes me wonder if you can say the same.’

‘In fact, I can go one better,’ replied Hannibal, not in the least offended.

‘Well, are not we both the very models of sobriety?’

Hannibal bit into a triangle of toast and chewed reflectively. ‘I admit that was not my impression when first I came across you in the library last night.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment, Will’s composure seemed again in danger of slipping, but he rallied quickly. ‘I must have been tired still from the other night.’ His glance was suddenly sly. ‘Was it you who tucked me into bed? I did wonder. I hope I was not too troublesome.’

This new, playful mood was very much to Hannibal’s liking, although the reference to Will’s bed summoned colour to _both_ of their faces.

‘I managed,’ he said dryly, at last. ‘You truly do not recall?’

In a gesture that seemed wholly unconscious, Will raised fingertips to his lips. ‘I recall feeling - warm.’

Hannibal was in danger of feeling rather warm himself as a vivid memory of soft, clinging lips assailed him. He took a long sip of tea. ‘In any case, I am pleased that you slept so well.’

‘Why? Do not tell me that we are going out today.’ His previous protest of sobriety notwithstanding, Will looked a little green at the thought.

‘As a matter of fact, we are.’ Setting down his knife, Hannibal regarded his ward carefully. ‘If you are favourable to the proposition, that is. I have a mind to take you up to Cambridgeshire.’ Of course, the wheels were already in motion, but he was loath to lose Will’s newly-restored good opinion by admitting such.

‘Leave the city? For Raven House?’ Will’s expression brightened, then fell again. ‘It is just - Margot. I did not see her last night to bid her farewell.’

‘You may pen a note. There is time yet to have it delivered.’ 

Not for anything would Hannibal risk Will going in person and risking another encounter with Mason Verger. He had no doubt that Molson’s tidbit had come straight from his son’s spiteful mouth; and if mischief for Will was chief on the boy’s agenda, then the knowledge that Will had not yet fallen foul of Bedelia’s gossip would surely encourage him to express his maliciousness overtly the next time they met.

‘I had a notion,’ he added, forestalling possible protest, ‘that perhaps you might like to invite Miss Verger to come and stay with us in a month or so.’

‘I would like that very much.’ 

How brightly Will’s eyes shone when he smiled so. And how the sight tugged at Hannibal. He cleared his throat and picked up his cup.

‘Then it is settled. Now finish your breakfast, my little wolf.’

Will picked up his fork and knife, then set them down again. His lips parted, his eyes widened, and Hannibal saw with tender amusement the moment understanding dawned as Will uttered a single, comprehending, delighted, ‘Oh.’


	10. Chapter 10

The journey to Raven House took up the better part of the day, largely because Hannibal insisted on stopping every hour or so for Will to take the air. It felt good to be thus cared for, to feel the exclusive caress of that golden gaze. After weeks of sharing Hannibal’s attentions, Will was greedy for them. 

_‘You are falling for him... Do not you see?’_

He was beginning to. And the knowledge was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. 

As yet, they had not spoken of the kiss they had shared the night before, and Hannibal’s whispered words, the memory of which teased at Will’s consciousness in a manner both frustrating and delightful. But smiles were warmer, touches lingered, and never had Will felt more hopeful of a permanent shift in their relationship.

Their arrival in Cambridgeshire was cloaked in darkness, Will’s first impression of the house a silhouette of shadowed graciousness. He followed Hannibal inside in a haze of exhaustion while the carriage was unloaded under the supervision of Umber and Peter, both of whom had travelled atop the carriage with the driver.

‘The remainder of the luggage should arrive in a day or so. In the meantime, my valet shall assist yours in making the best of a limited wardrobe.’ Hannibal frowned, casting a critical eye over him. ‘You are far too pale. We should have stopped more often.’

‘If we had, I daresay we would have arrived at some point tomorrow,’ said Will, stifling a yawn. ‘Show me a bed and I will be happy enough.’ 

As tired as he was, the awkwardness of that phrasing did not escape him, but Hannibal merely nodded. Taking a candle from a servant in smart livery, he started towards the stairs. 

‘Come, then.’

It was easy to trail after his guardian, following up cantilevered staircases and along portrait-lined corridors. To stop, eventually, before a mahogany carved door that Hannibal pushed open before handing him the candle. 

‘If you think that you can make your way alone, the bed is approximately six feet to your left.’

Angling at him a withering look, Will passed through the doorway, holding aloft the candle to gain an impression of cosy panelling and simple though attractive furnishings. Curious, he turned back.

‘This is much like my room at Chrysalis House.’

Hannibal smiled faintly. ‘I thought it might help you to feel more quickly at home. Besides, I had a notion that it would be more to your taste than one of the grander apartments.’

‘It is.’ Touched by the words and the sentiments behind them, Will stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s cheek. He breathed in the familiar cologne, warm and citrus-scented, and wished that he could stay within that space. Or pull Hannibal into his. ‘Thank you.’

‘Will.’ There was the most exquisite ache in Hannibal’s voice as he drew back. ‘Sleep well.’

‘I shall try.’ Will did nothing to hide the implicit message; and although Hannibal did not reply, the flash of fire that darkened his eyes was proof enough that he understood and shared it.

***

Waking to the susurrus of curtains being drawn, warm sun flooding in, Will struggled up onto his elbows and cracked a yawn.

‘Peter? What time is it?’

‘Just a little after noon, sir.’

‘What?’ Almost yelping his dismay, Will threw aside the bed covers and headed for the table where his valet had laid out a wash basin and a pile of muslins. ‘You know how I hate to waste the day.’

‘Lord Raven’s orders.’ Shaking out a clean pair of breeches, Peter draped them over the back of a chair. ‘You were to be allowed to recover after the trials of yesterday.’

‘Trials?’ Will snorted. ‘A little carriage sickness?’

‘Rather a lot, as I recall.’

Directing at his servant a subduing look which had, predictably, no effect, Will added, ‘In any case, your instructions come from me, not Lord Raven.’

Except that Hannibal was now paying Peter’s salary. 

‘Always, sir.’

They exchanged looks of deep understanding that had been forged in Will’s neglected youth and strengthened over many years, and Will completed his ablutions in humbled silence and with a grateful heart.

***

If Chrysalis House was for entertainment and show, then it seemed to Will that Raven House was primarily about family. Much as he had enjoyed his time in the capital, walking the halls and galleries of Hannibal’s ancestral home gave him a stronger sense of the history that had shaped the man. Antiquities from every corner of the globe spoke of extensive travel; carvings by Gibbons and furniture by Hepplewhite suggested a love of classicism; and outside, the harmony and sweeping grandeur of lawns, lakes and trees hinted at an ancestral connection with the legendary landscaper Capability Brown.

It was to this tranquil space that he was drawn when, from an upper window, he spied Hannibal crossing the lawn, accompanied by an older man in working garb. They appeared engrossed in conversation, although by the time Will had found his way outside, there was no sign of the other man. 

‘Feeling rested?’ 

Will drew to a stop beside Hannibal and followed his gaze out across the still surface of a long, oblong pond.

‘If I were any better rested, I would never require sleep again.’ He enjoyed the sound of Hannibal’s quiet chuckle. ‘You have a beautiful home, Hannibal. Thank you for bringing me here.’

‘I had hoped that you would like it.’ There was an odd inflection in Hannibal’s voice as he added, ‘Come down to the stables with me. There is something there that I believe will be of interest to you.’

Will’s heart sank a little. It was no secret that he was a keen rider, and no doubt Hannibal thought him anxious to resume the practice now that circumstances allowed it. Yet as kind a gesture as it was, the thought of saddling any horse other than his beloved Nola filled Will with sadness. Such self-indulgence was not to be borne, however. He would not repay Hannibal’s thoughtfulness with ingratitude, no matter what might be his finer feelings.

‘Lead the way.’

The quadrangular stable block, like the house, was built of red brick in the neo-classical style. Here and there, grooms and stable boys went about with tack, feed or wheelbarrow, making Will newly self-conscious about his late rise.

‘How many horses do you quarter here?’

‘Currently forty-five, though we have capacity for eighty.’

Will gaped. ‘At Wolf Hall, we thought ourselves grand with ten! Do you keep hunters?’

‘Hunters, carriage horses, working stock, and those which we breed and race.’ Eyes gleaming, Hannibal nudged Will’s elbow. ‘Come and see our latest acquisition.’

Genuine interest overtaking his earlier misgiving, Will followed Hannibal into the adjacent block. He was immediately struck by the modern design of the interior: high ceilings, wide stalls, good ventilation, and plentiful light. This was clearly a fine establishment that put the needs of its animals over expense. When he recalled his father’s reluctance to make improvements to their own, hopelessly outdated stables, he felt nothing but shame. If this was the sort of home that Nola had gone to, then he was almost glad that she had been sold along with the rest.

It was at that precise moment that he heard it. A nicker, oddly like a human laugh. And again a second time. It was unmistakable. And yet how was it possible? Hardly daring to hope, he turned to Hannibal.

‘Am I hearing things or is that -’

‘At the far end,’ said Hannibal softly.

Before Will had even reached the last stall, tears were forming in his eyes; and when he saw Nola, tethered loosely and munching contentedly on oats, those same tears spilled unchecked down his cheeks. As he entered the stall, she looked up and snorted vigorously, abandoning her meal to walk forward and push her nose into his face. 

‘Yes, girl. You know me. You still know me.’ He whispered it wonderingly. 

‘Of course she does. Horses have long memories.’

‘Hannibal, I -’ Will turned to stare at him, heart so full it was difficult to speak. ‘Why?’

Hannibal leaned back against the opposite wall, arms folded, expression enigmatic. ‘The way in which you reacted when the subject was raised at Balmore House made me realise the depth of your attachment to her. And since riding is something of a requirement in these parts, it made sense for you to have a mount you were already used to.’

‘But the expense - of transporting her here, of _keeping_ her.’ It was difficult to fully grasp the reality and enormity of Hannibal’s actions. No matter how casually _he_ attempted to brush the deed off as of little import, to Will it was important indeed. It was everything. 

‘As I said before, we have plenty of space.’ Manner brisk, Hannibal straightened up. ‘What say you to a ride before luncheon? It is the best way of seeing the estate.’

‘I would not wish to take up too much of your time.’ But Will could not keep the eagerness from his voice, and Hannibal’s fleeting smile was an acknowledgement that he was well aware of it. ‘You are being very unfair, you know.’ Leaving Nola, Will walked slowly up to his guardian. 

‘Oh? How so?’ The habitual guardedness was there, but affection ran warm beneath it.

Daringly, Will placed a hand on Hannibal’s chest. ‘You do all of these wonderful things, provoking me every moment to kiss you, yet still you insist on keeping this distance between us. Hannibal,’ and he lifted plaintive eyes, ‘do not you want to kiss me?’

There was silence, and Will’s breathing stuttered as eyes of dark honey dropped to his lips. But after several charged seconds, Hannibal lifted his hand to cover Will’s. 

‘As you know, life in the country moves at a far slower pace than in the city. I want you to walk and ride and read and enjoy the freedom just to _be_ for a while, Will. As to the rest, we have plenty of time. But in answer to your question, yes. I want very much to kiss you.’

Those huskily-delivered words, and the soft promise that they contained, occupied Will most pleasantly while their horses were readied. Hannibal’s mount, a handsome black Arabian mare, danced nervously in the yard until he took her firmly by the halter and murmured soothing nothings. Will found himself absurdly envious of the temperamental animal. But as soon as he was once again settled in his saddle atop Nola, feet secure in the stirrups and reins in hand, he felt only a sense of deep satisfaction. And a gratitude that, _plenty of time_ or not, he was determined to express with full and absolute fervour before the day had drawn to its close.


	11. Chapter 11

Perhaps this had not been one of his better ideas. It was rather a trial, cantering side by side with Will, forced to notice the way the boy’s lithe body moved with the horse, the energetic flush on cheeks and throat, wind-ruffled hair tossed this hair this way and that. Will’s earlier show of emotion had been testing enough, Hannibal’s overriding instinct to offer comfort difficult to ignore. Thus the suggestion to go for a ride. How ironic to be caught in a distraction of his own making.

‘Tell me about those.’ 

Will slowed his horse, pointing towards a cluster of small dwellings and near them, a large, sprawling building of rough-hewn stone. Hannibal’s expression darkened. Unlike other properties that they had ridden past, these were all in a sorry state of repair. 

‘Lea Farm sits just within the boundary of Cley Hall, Frederick’s estate.’

‘It looks to me as if he is as poor a landlord as my father was.’ A sad smile curved Will’s lips. ‘Percy always took such an interest in our tenants - he was forever fighting for their cause. He would have been a marvellous estate manager.’

Thoughts of the room which he had had locked up a decade since, and the flaxen-haired girl who had occupied it, clouded Hannibal’s countenance further. ‘It does no good to dwell on what ifs, Will.’

‘That was not my intention. Still, perhaps we should move on.’ Gone was the softness, replaced by a stilted echo of their first fractious conversations. Hannibal chided himself for having been the cause of it, but Will was already pulling his horse around. ‘Where to now?’

‘Back to the house, I think. We should take some refreshment.’ Hannibal eyed his charge. ‘I daresay you skipped breakfast.’

‘I daresay I shall survive. Race you back.’

And with that flippant equivalent of a head toss, Will was off. The route that he had chosen was criss-crossed with fences, and Hannibal coloured the air with oaths as he took chase. Impetuous, irresponsible…

Yet he could not help but admire Will’s natural grace as his mare took barrier after barrier, sailing over each with an ease that was testament to the relationship between horse and rider. By the time they approached the final hurdle, a fence slightly higher than any of the others, designed to keep the roaming deer from wandering too close to the house, Hannibal had all but discarded his worries. So when Nola clipped the topmost rung, sending Will tumbling off on the other side, he was unprepared for the cold horror that gripped him. 

‘ _Will_.’ 

The cry was ripped from him. He urged Prima over, dismounting the moment he could pull her to a halt, and raced to where the boy lay. _His_ boy. His beautiful, precious, damnably headstrong Will. Falling to his knees, he framed Will’s ashen face with trembling fingers.

‘Will, Will.’ 

It seemed all that he was capable of saying, until suddenly Will gasped, back arching from the grass. A series of shallow, wrenching breaths followed and his eyes flew open, latching onto Hannibal in wide panic. 

‘Will, calm down.’ As loudly as his own heart was thundering, Hannibal knew that he had to keep the tumult of feelings from his voice. ‘You landed on your back. You have had the stuffing knocked out of you, that is all.’ He _prayed_ that was all. ‘Try to slow your breathing.’

‘N-Nola?’

‘Nola is fine.’ She certainly appeared to be, as she wandered across to nudge gently at Prima, although Hannibal made a mental note to have her checked thoroughly by the head groom as soon as she was returned to the stables. 

‘I need - I need -’ 

Will began struggling to sit up, and Hannibal grasped his arms to steady him. ‘Careful. You really should be still.’

As Will leaned against him, those terrible rasping breaths began to lessen in frequency, and within a few minutes he was breathing normally again.

‘Thank you.’ He laughed softly into Hannibal’s shoulder. ‘That will teach me to show off for you.’

‘Confound it, Will.’ With a groan, Hannibal buried his face in Will’s hair. ‘I swear you shall be the death of me.’ 

But his arms came up to encircle the boy, and he felt Will’s shuddering sigh as he returned Hannibal’s tight embrace. Hannibal kissed the top of his head and Will made a small sound, almost of anguish. Pulling away, Hannibal regarded him with anxious eyes.

‘Am I hurting you?’

‘Yes.’

Yet when Hannibal attempted to loosen his hold, Will grasped his face between cold palms. ‘I think it very likely, you see,’ he said, in a voice low and shaky with need, ‘that _I_ shall die if you do not stop being so stubborn and _kiss_ me.’

As he had done before, Will leaned in and pressed his lips to Hannibal’s. It was just as chaste and sweet a gesture as it had been in the ballroom of Chrysalis House, and in his sleep the night of the party. But there was nothing either chaste or sweet about Hannibal’s return. Long past the limit of endurance, he pushed his fingers through tangled curls, returning the light pressure with an insistence that banished all misgivings. Perhaps it was the shock of Will’s fall that had loosened his grip on self-control; perhaps all they had needed was to be away from the distractions of society. Whatever the cause, he ravaged Will’s mouth now with a ruthless thoroughness that had the boy moaning, opening to him with blind, sensual innocence, offering himself for hungry exploration. And exploring in his turn. The brush of Will’s tongue, the graze of his teeth and greedy suckling on Hannibal’s bottom lip, sent him into a fever of self-indulgence. To taste and take his own pleasure; to trace the kiss-swollen contours of Will’s mouth with his tongue-tip. To dip back into delicious teasing, mimicking what his swelling cock was beginning to demand as assuagement of this awful need. By the time they finally broke apart, both were flushed and rather dishevelled. 

‘Well, Mr Graham,’ said Hannibal, as severely as he could manage in the circumstances, ‘and just what do you have to say for yourself?’

Will blinked, then smiled slowly. ‘Can we do that again, please?’

Unable to resist Will’s soft entreaty, Hannibal leaned in to claim another kiss, only to pull back, startled, as a sudden shower burst over their heads. Neither, it seemed, had been aware of the gathering clouds. Within moments, a fine sheen of raindrops glittered on the grass, the defiant sun refusing to give up the sky. Still, it would be foolhardy to remain.

‘We had better go inside. Can you walk?’

‘Of course I can,’ replied Will pertly, but Hannibal did not miss the way he winced upon standing. 

‘I shall carry you.’

‘Just try.’ Blue eyes flashed danger at him. ‘This is hardly the first time I have been thrown. I will not be coddled.’

Implied threat notwithstanding, Hannibal stayed close beside him as they entered the house. Issuing instructions to have the horses returned to the stables and a fire lit in the drawing room, he steered Will through to the latter. As the grate had already been prepared with fresh logs ready for evening, it was a matter of mere moments to set it alight; and as the servant scurried away, Hannibal turned his full attention to Will.

‘Your coat is ruined. Take it off, Will.’

‘Here?’ The boy’s slightly scandalised tone drew a chuckle.

‘No one will disturb us. And you can change before luncheon. But first, I would have you comfortable again.’

‘Oh, very well.’ Unbuttoning the grass-stained coat, Will shrugged out of it and handed it to Hannibal. ‘What would your noble ancestors have to say about this?’

‘Shirt sleeves in the drawing room? I shudder to think.’ But his eyes lingered with pleasure on the slender figure hinted at beneath fine white linen. Will’s waistcoat sported two ripped buttons, and Hannibal tutted. ‘That will need to go too.’

‘Not to be thrown out,’ warned Will, though he removed the torn garment without protest. ‘Peter can mend it. He has had plenty of practice, being altogether used to my slovenly ways.’

Hannibal huffed a laugh, folding the ruined clothes neatly and placing them on a side table. ‘Of that I have no doubt. Now come. A little warming before sustenance will do us both good.’

He seated himself in one of the high-backed armchairs that flanked the fireplace, expecting Will to take the other. But to his surprise and delight, Will sank gracefully to his knees before the fire. His fingers worked to unloose his neckcloth, and he set it aside with a coy upward glance.

‘Dirty,’ he explained. ‘I had better replace it.’

Despite seeing no trace either of earth or grass on the offending article, Hannibal nodded solemnly. ‘Of course.’

Luckily for his peace of mind, Will seemed content to leave the remaining articles of clothing in place, although the grass smears decorating his shapely backside were rather a distraction.

The boy settled back between Hannibal’s legs, draped his arms over one breeches-clad knee, and leaned against it with a satisfied sigh.

‘You were quite right. A little warming is just what we require.’

Hannibal looked down at the tousled head resting on folded hands, cheeks pink, eyes dreamy, mouth curved sweetly, and knew himself to be utterly lost. Tentatively, he raised a hand to run gentle fingers through curls still slightly damp from the cloudburst. His other hand found its way to Will’s waist, possessive and protective.

When Will sighed and pushed into his touch, he stroked his thumb across that smooth brow. ‘You gave me a fright out there.’

‘If not for the winding, I would have been fine. I am rather apt to take fences at a rush.’

‘I find that less than amusing,’ grumbled Hannibal. ‘Terrible boy. Must I save you from yourself?’

Will tilted his face to Hannibal with a wistful look. ‘You could save me for _you_.’

His breath caught. ‘If only it were so simple.’ Exploring fingers trailed the line from brow to jaw.

‘It is if you allow it to be.’ Eyes half-closed, Will rubbed against the contact like a contented cat. 

‘Will.’ Rueful, Hannibal shook his head. ‘I see that you are not going to make this easy for me.’

‘Why should I, if it means that you will retreat again?’ 

‘So ferocious.’ Hannibal smiled at him tenderly. ‘Have no worries on that score, little wolf. You have beguiled me utterly.’

Will’s grin was impudence itself. ‘You mean that I win?’

‘This particular battle? Emphatically.’

‘Then I should like to claim my victory prize.’

It was like some sort of a dream: nestled into Hannibal’s body; breathing in that faint, enticing scent; knowing that when he leaned up to eliminate the slight distance between them, he would be met with acceptance, with desire. Of course this was not the end of it. There was much still to be said and worked through. But when Will’s lips again touched Hannibal’s, all such considerations vanished. He pressed close, enjoying the light tease of fingertips against his jaw, opening eagerly to allow a slow side of tongues. Hesitance was abandoned; cocooned by flickering light and by each other, all that mattered was this languid exchange of pleasure. 

Breathing quickened and hands began to roam; Will turned in Hannibal’s arms, rising to his knees and threading his fingers through the silky hair at Hannibal’s nape. Their bodies melded, the tenor of their kisses changing, becoming more urgent. Until Will felt the hard line of Hannibal’s cock against his stomach and jerked back in surprise. 

‘I am sorry, Will.’ 

Mouth taut with strain, Hannibal made as if to release him, but Will tightened his hold.

‘It is for me to apologise, not you,’ he murmured against Hannibal’s lips. ‘I do want you, quite desperately. It is just that I have never -’

‘I know.’ Gentle yet insistent, Hannibal set him away a little. ‘Which is precisely why we must go now and change for luncheon.’ As if he could not help himself, he leaned in again and stole a final swift kiss that left Will breathless, before taking his hand and helping him to his feet.


	12. Chapter 12

Never had Will considered himself the type of person to be rendered a grinning fool over a few kisses, although given that these had been his first, he supposed that he could be excused. Throughout Peter’s tutting ministrations and exclamations over the state of his clothes, he could not shake a smile. Luckily, Peter’s assumption that his reunion with Nola was the cause prevented any awkward questions.

By the time he walked into the dining room, he was hungry again for Hannibal’s attention, even after only the briefest of separations. More importantly, he was anxious for reassurance that Hannibal did not regret what had occurred between them. Were he to be once more rejected...

But the smile that lit Hannibal’s eyes upon his entrance allayed Will’s fears at once.

‘Do I look better?’

‘That is a matter of perspective. Come, Will.’

The next matter to be settled was where Will should seat himself. Opposite Hannibal, as was his custom? Or at his side, where he was naturally drawn? In the end, he opted for the former. Given the heated nature of their last encounter, it was probably the wisest choice. 

The table was spread with rather more food than luncheon usually warranted: alongside the usual cold meats and fruit were squat cakes of honey and plum. 

‘You missed breakfast,’ was Hannibal’s offhand explanation when Will raised his brows.

‘But _you_ did not. I hope you do not expect me to demolish both of those cakes.’

‘Why ever not? You have as healthy an appetite as anyone I have ever known.’

That drew from Will a wide smile. ‘Are you trying to make me blush?’

‘I confess I was not, although it is a delightful prospect.’

***

After an hour of teasing conversation and increasingly lingering looks, they decamped to the terrace. There, on a white bench beneath the shade of a redwood, they again sat side by side. Will gazed out across the vista of lawn, rectangular pond, and wooded hills beyond, and felt suddenly, absurdly shy. Wolf Hall’s shambolic aesthetic had fitted him well. This place of poetic lines and elegant restraint was somehow even more intimidating than had been the London house. Perhaps it was the sheer scale, but he felt suddenly very small.

‘Does Raven House please you?’

‘Very much. I wonder, though.’ He turned to Hannibal, meeting his speculative gaze earnestly. ‘What would you have my role here be?’ The hesitation with which Hannibal met this question threatened to increase Will’s insecurity. ‘I see.’

‘I doubt that, when I myself do not.’ Hannibal laid his hand atop Will’s where it rested on the bench. ‘These are uncharted waters for us both.’

Will swallowed. ‘Because of my age?’

‘Your age, mine, the complicated nature of our relationship.’

‘As to that, you are not my guardian in the truest sense.’ 

‘Nonetheless, I am your guardian.’ Another hesitation. ‘And that is not the only complication between us.’

‘No, it is not.’ Will turned his palm and threaded his fingers through Hannibal’s. ‘And yet.’

Desire trembled through him when Hannibal raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Will’s. ‘And yet.’

‘What, then, do you suggest?’

Common sense dictated a tactical withdrawal. Common sense, Hannibal decided, could go hang. Releasing Will’s hand, he cupped the boy’s face between both palms. 

‘At this moment?’

The kiss was slow. A gentle persuasion for full lips to part, a request for entrance that was accepted with intoxicating ardour. How easy it would be to swing Will up into his arms and take him to his bed. Finally assuage this driving need. But Will was not ready. And even if he were, he deserved better than to be seduced out of such base motivation. 

Nevertheless, the insistent plunge of Will’s tongue demanded reciprocation. And within a very short time, Hannibal was once again in danger of forgetting himself. 

‘I think,’ he whispered at last, pulling back to rest his forehead gently against Will’s, ‘that I should prevail upon Anthony to take up his position in the household again.’

Will pouted. ‘To keep me out from under your feet?’

‘I was thinking more of my bedchamber,’ commented Hannibal wryly. At the hitch in Will’s breathing, he stroked gentle fingers down his cheek. ‘I do not say that to frighten you.’

‘Frightened?’ Sounding rather more scornful than scared, Will batted his hand away. ‘That is the very last thing that I am. Invite Mr Dimmond by all means; but as an educator, not a chaperone.’ 

‘How very fierce you are.’ Hannibal kissed the tip of Will’s nose, ignoring the disgruntled noise of protest that elicited. ‘In truth, Anthony would make a very poor chaperone. He is, however, a fine teacher, yes?’

‘Yes.’

Another kiss, planted on lips already beautifully swollen. ‘Then it is a deal.’

‘Hm. Hardly fair play.’ 

But Will’s hands were already creeping up to slide around Hannibal’s neck. And when he pressed forward to graze his teeth against Hannibal’s bottom lip, Hannibal was more than happy to open to him. 

***

Three days later, Anthony arrived, dusty and grumpy from the trials of a public coach. 

‘Come, my friend.’ Hannibal ushered him into the drawing room. ‘Take some wine. I have ordered a bath drawn for you before dinner.’

‘Ah, the delights of Raven House hospitality.’ Pulling at his cravat, Anthony grimaced as he took a seat. ‘I should thank you again for spiriting me away from London. The end of the Season is always interminably dull.’

Hannibal handed him a drink and sipped at his own. ‘Still, I know that you will want to return for Christmas. If you could stay until then, and complete Will’s education, I would be grateful.’

‘Of course.’ Anthony looked at him with curiosity. ‘You have something in mind for him after that?’

‘Oxford is one possibility, if they would take him halfway through the year. Otherwise, perhaps a tour of Europe to fill the time before the Michaelmas term.’ 

‘I see. And would he be taking this tour alone?’

‘He would not.’ Hannibal pursed his lips at his friend’s knowing twinkle. ‘Would you judge me for wanting to oversee his education?’

‘Of course not. I am offended by the very suggestion.’ Anthony pressed a hand to his heart in gentle self-mockery.

‘Whichever path is taken, it shall be Will’s choice.’ Hannibal cast a glance out into the hallway. Will had earlier mentioned his own desire to bathe, and it was difficult not to imagine what was happening at this moment within the privacy of the boy’s bedchamber.

‘Will’s wishes are paramount, eh?’

‘Always.’ Still rather distracted by his imaginings, Hannibal’s voice was a little husky.

‘Erm, Hannibal, are you sure that I will not be in the way here?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Redirecting his attention to the conversation, Hannibal frowned. ‘Of course not. How could you be, when I specifically requested you to come?’

‘Well,’ Anthony threw him a quizzical look, ‘it does not take a genius to work out that something has changed between you two. And you know what they say about three being a crowd and all that.’

‘Nonsense.’ Hannibal tossed back the remains of his drink. ‘Both Will and I want you here, and there is an end.’

‘Hm. No denial of your relationship. How interesting.’

‘Anthony.’ Hannibal set down his glass and fixed his friend with an exasperated look. ‘The situation is delicate enough without such unhelpful prodding.’

‘Ah, I see how it is.’ Of a sudden, Anthony looked supremely amused. ‘I am to be a shield for your virtue. Well, how can I possibly refuse? Although there is one important consideration that you seem to have overlooked.’

‘And that is?’ asked Hannibal cautiously.

The ridiculous man grinned. ‘We shall be an uneven number at dinner.’

‘Heaven forfend.’

At the familiar dry tones, Hannibal looked up in pleasure. ‘Will, at last. Come and reassure Anthony that he is very much wanted.’

Pink-cheeked, curls glistening, Will was evidently fresh from his bath. And as such, he was wholly irresistible. How difficult it was to have him pass by Hannibal’s chair without snaring that lean waist and pulling the boy down for soft caresses and softer kisses. But then, was not this precisely the reason for Anthony’s presence? To ensure a curtailment of the embraces which, while decidedly pleasurable, were growing increasingly difficult to draw a halt to.

‘Mr Dimmond, it is good to see you again. I have missed our debates.’ 

‘I, too. You look much refreshed, Will. Cambridgeshire clearly agrees with you.’

‘Very much so.’

Will lingered at Hannibal’s side, one hand trailing across the back of the armchair, fingertips just skimming his nape. If it was meant as a tease, then it was certainly a successful one, diverting Hannibal to the extent that when Umber materialised to announce that Mr Dimmond’s room was ready for him, he did not immediately react. It took a slight nudge from Will’s foot to mobilise him.

‘Very good. Please show Mr Dimmond up. Anthony, we shall see you at dinner. Enjoy your bath.’

He waited barely long enough for the pair to retreat before tugging his giggling ward into his lap. ‘You absolute horror.’

‘What can you mean?’ Will schooled his face into a picture of injured innocence. ‘I barely touched you.’ 

‘And as you know very well, the mere promise of your touch is dangerous. Your behaviour was outrageous,’ scolded Hannibal, his own hands busily mapping the lean lines of Will’s delightful body. He was rewarded with a series of squirms and squeaks, the latter of which he put an end to with a devouring kiss that left them both supremely flushed.

‘What were you and Mr Dimmond discussing before I came in?’ Will’s words were punctuated by light kisses across Hannibal’s jaw. ‘And I distinctly heard my name as I crossed the hall, so no obfuscating if you please.’

‘Your education, of course. What else? He is, after all, your tutor.’ Hannibal tipped back his head, frustrated by the limitations dictated by his high cravat. The desire to tear it off, and allow Will unfettered access to his throat, was curbed only by the knowledge that things would most certainly not end there.

‘Of course.’ Will’s sharp little teeth grazed an earlobe, and Hannibal shuddered. ‘What about my education?’

Hannibal’s pause was telling. ‘I was merely thinking aloud - airing some of the possible options that you might wish to consider.’

Which very likely meant that Will was not going to like any of them. ‘Why so evasive?’ He bit a little harder, drawing a hiss. ‘Well? Out with it.’

‘You minx.’ The growled chastisement was followed by a light swipe across Will’s backside before he was tipped back onto his feet. ‘I refuse to be hectored.’

‘Well then,’ as Will straightened his waistcoat with prim deliberateness, ‘ _I_ refuse to be kissed.’

‘Oh, really?’ Head cocked to the side, Hannibal radiated lazy disbelief. ‘For how long, may I ask? Until the gong is sounded for dinner? Or do you intend to try for the entirety of the meal? I doubt whether Anthony’s presence would inhibit you, judging by your previous performance.’ He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, looking so smug that Will almost thrust his tongue out at him in a gesture that he had not used since he had last been forced by his nurse to wear a frilled collar.

Thinking better of it, he tossed his head and stalked across the room to retrieve his book from the window seat. Until Anthony Dimmond came down for dinner, he would sit and read. Or pretend to read. And Hannibal Lecter could go to the devil.

***

By dinner’s end, Will was ready to send him there himself.

Two hours of shameless flirting, and not even particularly with Mr Dimmond! No, it had begun with a soup spoon: filling it to the brim with each pass, Hannibal had gazed at it lovingly before drawing his lips across it in the most outrageous fashion. His dinner fork had received the same tender treatment. And as for his wine goblet, well. The shameless way in which he had touched his tongue tip to the rim before each sip had been surely enough to shock even the usually impervious servants; although frustratingly they, and Mr Dimmond, had appeared puzzlingly unaware of the wholly unacceptable behaviour happening directly beneath their noses. 

Will, on the other hand, was now in dire need of distraction lest he should disgrace himself right there at the table.

‘Mr Dimmond.’ The snap in his voice was unintentional, and he made an effort to soften it with his next words. ‘I should like to hear your thoughts about the direction which my education should take.’

‘Will, do allow Mr Dimmond to enjoy his ice cream before it melts.’ Hannibal’s tone was mild, but the implicit warning was clear.

Still smarting from their earlier exchange, not to mention Hannibal’s blatant provocations with the dinner service, Will ploughed on. ‘I am interested to know whether you disagree with my guardian’s assessment.’ Disingenuous, perhaps, but at that precise moment he was not inclined to care.

‘Not at all.’ Mr Dimmond’s brow crinkled. ‘If Oxford would indeed take you for the Hilary term, I am confident that I could have you ready.’

The most peculiar sensation gripped Will, as if someone had just poured ice water through his veins. ‘I see.’ He placed his spoon carefully beside his untouched ice. ‘I take it, then, that you shall be staying until January to put me through my paces.’

‘Until Christmas, anyway. And then, all being well, off you will trot,’ replied Mr Dimmond, with a cheerfulness that was really quite terrible.

Hannibal’s own spoon had stilled, but Will could not look up. He was too afraid of letting fall the mortifying tears that had sprung to his eyes. ‘Off I will trot,’ he repeated dully. He pushed back his chair with a gentleness which he was far from feeling. But what good would it do to lash out, to sweep from the table every piece of Hannibal’s elegant dinner service, to scream _coward_ at the man who had whispered sweet nothings to him so many times in that deliciously rumbling voice yet still refused to allow Will true closeness? ‘If you will excuse me, I should like to retire.’

‘Of course.’ How resigned Hannibal sounded. How Will hated hearing him so.

***

It had not been his intention to return immediately upstairs - but then, short of escaping the astute gaze of his guardian, Will had given very little thought to what he would do once he was on the other side of the dining room door. For a few minutes, he paced the outer hall, wondering how an evening which he had begun with him curled up happily in Hannibal’s lap could have come to so dismal and abrupt an end. But a murmur of voices drove him quickly upstairs, the idea that Hannibal and Mr Dimmond were even now discussing him as a problem to be solved driving shards of ice into his already frozen heart. 

In the sanctuary of his bedchamber, Will began immediately to tug at his restrictive clothes; and when moments later a surprised-looking Peter appeared at the door, Will shook his head. ‘I can manage by myself tonight.’ 

‘Are you sure, sir?’

Ignoring the concern in his valet’s face, Will worked free the knot of his cravat and began unwinding it. ‘Quite sure. Goodnight, Peter.’

Was he behaving badly? There was no denying that in attempting to secure for him a place at university, Hannibal would have believed that he was acting in Will’s best interest. But there was the rub; for, as a boy, never had Will been happier than when walking the estate with Cordell, his father’s well-meaning yet hapless manager. Here at Raven House, tantalisingly close, was the prospect of learning proper estate management. If only he could summon the courage to articulate his wishes rather than stomping off like the spoiled child Hannibal undoubtedly thought him to be.

Moodily, Will cast off his clothes and shrugged on his nightshirt. Rarely had he been further from sleep while preparing for bed, yet his mind was too troubled to be soothed by a book. And having taken himself off in high dudgeon, the stimulation of good society was now also denied him. 

‘Stupid,’ he grumbled, throwing back the covers and clambering in to settle between them. A night of dissatisfied tossing and turning loomed, and he had no one to blame for it but himself.

***

The fire was out, the room thrown into pitch, when he heard it. The slightest creak. Then a tiny groan as the bedsprings contracted beneath an unknown force. Will blinked blearily and turned his head on the pillow, a sigh catching in his throat at the sight of Hannibal sitting on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed, shoulders bowed. 

‘Am I a brat?’ The words spilled out only half in jest. Hannibal started then turned, eyes rueful.

‘I have always thought so.’

‘Yet you came to check on me anyway.’

‘I missed you after dinner.’ Hannibal’s voice was husky, his gaze possessive in a way that simultaneously elated Will and scared him. ‘It has been our custom to end the night together.’

‘Up to a point,’ corrected Will softly, ‘and it was _you_ who brought in company.’ Allowing just the smallest amount of reproach to colour his tone. 

Hannibal shifted to rest his elbow on the bed, reclining just enough to be able to reach out and stroke the thick cloud of hair from Will’s forehead. ‘You know why I did that.’

‘Hmph. I know what you _told_ me.’ But he could not resist pushing into Hannibal’s touch, eyes slipping closed.

‘Will.’

‘ _Hann_ ibal,' he taunted, peeking up in defiant challenge.

He was met with an answering gleam and a low growl. ‘Brat indeed!’ 

The next moment, Will was seized at the waist to be rolled, giggling, beneath his guardian’s hard body. Tantalisingly hard. He rocked his hips experimentally, and as their gazes collided, his eyes widened and laughter died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here endeth the slow burn. ;)


	13. Chapter 13

‘I should leave.’

But as Hannibal attempted to rise, Will wound surprisingly strong arms around his neck and pulled him back down. 

‘Do not you _dare_ ,’ he whispered emphatically against Hannibal’s lips, and kissed him.

Hannibal returned the kiss, hands roaming greedily over the rucked up nightshirt even as his conscience hissed _should not_ and _must not_ in reproving echo. ‘Terrible thing,’ he muttered, between nipping at Will’s lower lip and sucking on his tongue. ‘Why are you so stubborn? All other considerations aside, how can I give you - a young man of only just nineteen - what you deserve in a lover?’

Deft fingers unloosed his cravat, stripping it from him to bare his neck. ‘You speak as if you are in your dotage.’

Groaning, Hannibal released his squirming ward and clutched instead at the bed sheets on either side of him, a feeble attempt to do the right thing. But his body was still pressed to Will’s, his arousal growing more persistent with every moment. The opportunity for retreat was fast disappearing. ‘I am, as I have said before, far too old for you.’

A hot palm slid down between their bodies and cupped Hannibal’s extremely interested cock through his breeches. ‘Really? You do not _feel_ too old.’

Hannibal cursed beneath his breath, freezing in place. 

‘Mm. Not too old at all.’ 

A slow rubbing up and down caused slickness to stain the front of Hannibal’s breeches. He closed his eyes. ‘ _Will_.’ It was an agonised rasp. ‘I am seven-and-forty. Do not you understand? There are almost three decades between us.’

There. At last, he had confessed it. He waited, chest heaving, for Will to push at his shoulders and demand to be released. Instead, he found his waistcoat buttons being tugged at in the most alarmingly ruthless fashion. ‘Mm hm. Er, am I to do this all by myself or shall you help?’

‘Listen to me.’ Hannibal practically thundered the words. 

‘I _am_.’ Will’s quelling glare was in direct contradiction to the softness of his touch, as he parted both sides of the waistcoat and set about easing Hannibal’s shirt from his breeches. ‘But you are telling me nothing that I did not know already.’ Fingertips brushed Hannibal’s midriff, and he sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Or did you believe that the gossips at Lord Cley’s party would bother to restrain themselves in my hearing?’

‘You have known since then?’ 

The little fiend actually _rolled his eyes_. ‘I do wish that you would stop dwelling on irrelevancies and make love to me.’

A choice lay before him: he could continue to fret or he could put aside all such worries for the night and… ‘ _Will_.’

‘You like this?’ With a daring that Hannibal would not have thought possible, Will massaged the bared head of his cock. ‘I like it.’

Hannibal pressed his forehead to Will’s shoulder. ‘ _Dear gods_.’

‘Do you know what I like the most about it?’ 

How was it possible that this virginal boy could sound increasingly nonchalant when it was all that Hannibal could do not to shake apart beneath his exploratory touches? ‘What?’ he gritted.

‘That it is hard and wet for me. That _you_ are wet for me.’ 

Intolerable to hear more. Rising to his knees, Hannibal all but tore off his coat. ‘Get undressed this instant,’ he instructed softly, and turned away, though more to give himself time to calm down a little than out of any sense of chivalry. He cast off his clothes with a carelessness that he had not shown since his own teenage years - perhaps not even then. And when he turned back around, the sight of Will lying propped up on his elbows, knees drawn up and eyes huge, stopped his breath. ‘I thought you beautiful when first I saw you in Derbyshire, a wild thing in his element.’ 

How, too, he would treasure the memory of _this_ moment, as he stretched out over the slight, pale body beneath, parting Will’s knees with gentle insistence to lie between his thighs. He did not attempt to touch the slender cock that lay pink and perfect against Will’s flat stomach, but instead began a slow rocking that chased the nervousness from Will’s expression and rendered him once again delightfully bold. 

‘But here, like this…’ He fastened his mouth over Will’s, tongue plunging deep, restraint all but gone.

As they kissed with abandon, Hannibal eased Will back gently onto the sheets, relishing the feeling of the boy’s fingers threading through his hair. He shifted slightly onto his side, allowing easier access and the joy of being able finally to touch and stroke where he knew it would give Will the most enjoyment. A gentle sweep of fingers up his side, marvelling at the symmetry of ribcage and collarbones, ended with butterfly touches to nipples already tightened and raised. Unable to resist the idea of tasting more of his boy, Hannibal broke their kiss to latch hungrily onto one small bud. He teased his tongue over it while simultaneously skimming a hand down to trace the shape of Will’s cock. It filled his palm, warm and silken, a liquid sheen at the tip that he spread that he might rub more firmly, pulling keening cries from Will, who arched towards him in a perfect bow of trust and desire.

‘What would you have me do? Hm?’

‘I do not - ah - I do not know.’ 

Not only in his words, but in the shakiness of Will’s voice, was a reminder of his inexperience. Hannibal’s heart ached for him. 

‘Touch me, Will. Touch me as I touch you, and we shall find the answer together.’ 

Without hesitation, Will reached for him, and it took only a few tentative strokes for Hannibal’s cock to spill hot across his boy’s belly. Watching Will come apart beneath his own hand was almost as wonderful, and Hannibal was still shuddering his pleasure as Will cried out, throwing one arm across his eyes, head pressed back into the mattress.

After several minutes of rather stunned silence, both took turns in the washroom. Returning to the wreckage of the bed without thought for anything except the desire for closeness, Hannibal gathered Will against him. He lay back, crooning nonsense into Will’s hair, pressing kisses to his damp temple, his cheek, his neck. The air was rich with the scents of their lovemaking; probably a bath was in order, but it would have to wait until morning. 

‘Tell me how you are feeling.’

‘Oh, very well, thank you.’ Mischievous eyes peeked at him through a tangle of curls. ‘And did not we have fine weather today?’

‘ _Wretch_.’ 

There was only one thing to be done: scooping Will into his arms, Hannibal swung his legs from the bed and strode towards the door.

‘What are you doing?’ Giggling, and putting up what Hannibal supposed to be a token struggle, Will thumped him in the shoulder. ‘Put me down.’ 

‘I shall not.’ Hannibal manoeuvred open the door, berating his wriggling armful with a look of chastisement. ‘Hush now, if you do not wish to have the entire household up.’

Will fell suspiciously quiet, but his compliance was belied a moment later when Hannibal felt the graze of teeth against a nipple; and when Will began to _suckle_ , he almost staggered. Barely had he made it to his bedchamber before he was forced to drop the wicked creature, who slid down onto his knees as if that had been his plan all along. When a hot tongue flicked across the head of his cock, Hannibal was forced to grasp the bedpost for support. 

Looking up at him, Will tilted his head in thought. ‘That - does not taste as I thought it would.’ 

Slightly unbalanced in more ways than one, Hannibal passed a hand across his face. ‘How did you think that it would taste?’

Hands curved around his bottom, thumbs tracing light circles on his hips. ‘I once heard two of father’s stablehands in the barn. I stayed outside but they were - not quiet. And one said to the other that he tasted of honey.’ Hannibal gasped as he was licked again. ‘I would say rather that it is salty, and rather sour. Definitely not like honey. He was being sentimental, I suppose.’ Another long lick, this time ending in a slow suck. ‘I cannot say that it moves _me_ to poetry, but I believe that I could get used to it.’

‘Could you, indeed?’ 

How Will gloried in that ferocious rumble; how his heart kicked in delight as he was lifted and fairly flung onto a bed of such generous proportions, it could have fitted easily several people at once. But all that Will wanted was here: all that he wanted was _Hannibal_ , and in every way that his fevered brain could imagine. He flung his arms out wide, enjoying the sensual slide of satin atop finest cotton. The bed curtains were tied back, leaving him exposed entirely to Hannibal’s ardent gaze.

‘Are you coming, or do you mean to stand and take my likeness first?’

‘Another time,’ as Hannibal approached slowly, eyes glittering amber, ‘I _shall_ draw you, just as you are. Wanting and waiting, and pretending desperately not to be. Raven curls and rosy blushes and ivory skin against scarlet.’ He dropped to his knees before the end of the bed, and Will swallowed at the sight. 

‘A most shocking colour for bed linen, Lord Raven.’ He had not yet been touched, but Hannibal’s words were their own caresses, and Will could not be still. ‘I do like your pretty compliments, but I would rather have your mouth.’ Indeed, his body was again aflame, and he squirmed in anticipation of that expert tongue on his cock.

A moment later, he had his wish, and taunting was abandoned in favour of breathy encouragement. ‘Oh gods, how good that feels.’ _Good_ was hardly an adequate word, but the rasp of Hannibal’s tongue rendered coherent thought almost impossible. And when he was enveloped completely in tight wet heat, he cried out and arched back, thrashing against the sheets. Entire body taut with pleasure, he was sure that nothing could be better until, to his shock, he felt an entirely new sensation as his bottom was cupped and raised, cheeks parted and... 

‘H- _Hann_ ibal.’

Cheeks aflame, he looked down and groaned in combined arousal and embarrassment. ‘I am quite sure that you are not meant to lick _there_.’

Hannibal lifted his head, grin wolfish. ‘Is not it good? Shall I cease?’

‘No. Yes - _no. Ahh_.’

The lash of a pointed tongue rendered him insensible once again, and he buried his fingers in Hannibal’s hair, pulling none too gently. For months he had dreamed of physical intimacy between them - a foolish dream, he had once thought, yet here it was bursting into vivid life. And it was far more tangible and earthy than anything his naive fantasies could ever have conjured.

‘Ah, Will, you taste -’

‘ _No_ ,’ he practically squealed, hands flying to cover his eyes. ‘Do not tell me how I _taste_.’

A deep-throated chuckle was followed by the sound of a key turning and the squeak of a lid. Peeping from between his fingers, Will watched as Hannibal extracted a small glass bottle from a box that must have been hidden beneath the bed. 

‘What is that?’

With serious frankness, Hannibal held his gaze. ‘That, my darling, is oil. It will allow me to penetrate you - or you to penetrate me.’

‘Oh.’ The air seemed to have left the room and Will was all a-tremble. 

Hannibal placed a gentle hand on his thigh. ‘Or it can go back into the box, for use later - or never.’ He turned his head and kissed Will’s raised knee. ‘I had no intentions of this kind when I brought you to Raven House, no matter how much I desired you. And I did desire you, Will.’

‘You did?’ Memories of the rejections he had borne in the months past rose to the fore like uninvited guests.

There was an apology in Hannibal’s smile as he vowed, ‘From the first.’

‘And yet you fought so hard against it - against me. And,’ added Will softly, ‘against yourself. Yourself most of all.’ 

‘I have told you why.’ 

Will narrowed his eyes, unwilling to accept less than complete transparency. ‘Tell me that you shall not do so any more.’

A kiss atop his hipbone placated him somewhat. ‘You have defeated me, my fierce little wolf. I surrender willingly.’

Such tenderness was evidence enough. Drawing his hand through Hannibal’s hair, Will said with trembling intensity, ‘Then take me now, and make me yours.’

The gentleness with which Hannibal proceeded only inflamed Will’s desire. And soon he was twisting on the bed, panting and - rather to his chagrin - _whining_ , at the mercy of fingers and mouth that strummed his body as if playing a fine instrument. When finally Hannibal pressed the head of his cock against Will’s slicked and sensitised entrance, Will keened in encouragement and rubbed back against him. 

‘I am not afraid. Please, Hannibal. I need you inside me.’

The feeling of being penetrated was blissfully erotic, the burn temporary, the sensation of fullness - of union - incandescent. And finally, when Hannibal was buried deep, and they were pressed skin to skin, friction of an entirely new sort had Will squirming in pleasure. 

‘Oh, what is that?’ he moaned, cock jerking in response to the sweet stimulation. 

His cry was captured in a kiss. ‘That is me wishing to pleasure you. I take it I have succeeded.’

The low tease only added to his fretfulness. ‘Make me come,’ he whined, ‘and then you will have succeeded.’

‘Demanding boy.’ 

But fingers wrapped around him with greedy eagerness, each stroke bringing him closer to the brink, until with a low cry he pulsed warm, white seed up his belly. Moments later, the harshness of Hannibal’s breathing against his neck, and a series of hard, stuttering thrusts, signalled the onset of his own climax. Reactionary tears fell from the corners of Will’s eyes, and he shuddered as Hannibal began easing free. 

‘I must leave you, but for a few moments only.’ A kiss was dropped on his parted lips.

Will rolled onto his belly as Hannibal padded to the washstand and began laying out a selection of muslins. How very _Hannibal_ the room was, thought Will with dazed affection. All muted tones with the odd flare of extravagance: scarlet bedcover, gold-framed looking glass, a strangely-ornamented suit of armour behind glass. His eye was caught by a bright gleam of metal on the nightstand. Reaching over, he scooped it up, and found himself cradling the gold pocket watch that Hannibal wore about his person every day.

‘Hannibal? Would you tell me the story now?’

‘Hm?’ Turning, Hannibal stilled, and Will’s smile faltered. 

‘I am sorry. I should not have touched it.’ 

But the next moment, Hannibal seemed to shake himself free of whatever strange mood had seized him. ‘No, Will, you have every right to do so. And I will gladly share the story with you.’ Crossing to the bed, he stroked a gentling hand down the curve of Will’s back. ‘It is just that it is not a particularly happy tale. And I would have no sadness colouring this night.’

Touched, Will nodded solemnly. ‘Tomorrow, then?’

‘Tomorrow.’

With a parting smile, Hannibal returned to the washstand. On the verge of replacing the watch, Will hesitated. What harm could it do to take a peek at the inscription? It was carved across the back in beautiful flourishing script:

**Manus in mano**

****~ D.S.** **

‘Hand in hand,’ murmured Will. 

‘What did you say, my darling?’

Will smiled and shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just - come back here to me.’

‘We should clean ourselves.’ But it was obvious from the covetous drift of Hannibal’s gaze that he was wavering.

With an exaggerated sigh, Will rolled onto his back. ‘And what would be the point of that, when we will only make a mess of each other again?’ 

Provocation itself, he curled a hand around his already stiffening cock. He had barely stroked it twice before his ardent lover was once more heavy upon him, and Will cried out in pleasure as his hand was lifted away and replaced by a hot, eager mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In writing terms, I've now caught up with myself, so I'll be writing each of the remaining chapters from week to week. Barring emergencies in life or at work, this shouldn't affect the posting schedule. I just wanted to give you all a heads up. I've plotted out all five remaining chapters, so I know exactly where the story is heading and how it will end. Thank you all for reading and encouraging. Here we go into the end game!


	14. Chapter 14

Will awoke to find himself alone, but a quick glance around revealed Hannibal sitting in the window seat, clothed only in a pair of loose breeches, knees drawn up. Upon them was balanced a notepad, although whether intended for writing or drawing it was difficult to ascertain. Not that Will was overly concerned with such trivialities. Here, after all, was a rare opportunity to admire the rugged natural beauty of a man whose usual appearance was a study in impeccability. Hair spilled now across his brow, a concentrated frown knitting his brows as he corrected some error, perhaps. The shadow of a beard lent him a roguish air. Will’s fingers itched to touch it, and to drift down to stroke and pet through the ample sprinkling of soft hair on his chest, as he had done the previous night. Thoughts of what _else_ he had done caused his breathing to hitch, and he froze guiltily as Hannibal’s gaze flew upwards, a rather infuriating smug smile pulling at his lips.

‘What are you about, peeping at me from over there?’

‘Nothing. Certainly not _peeping_.’ Crossly, Will sat up. ‘What are _you_ about?’

With a chuckle, Hannibal tipped the pad towards Will. ‘Capturing a moment.’

A sketching pad, then. But… ‘Of me sleeping, with my mouth agape? How truly appalling.’ 

‘I told you last night that I would draw you. Do not you remember?’

_Wanting and waiting, and pretending desperately not to be. Raven curls and rosy blushes and ivory skin against scarlet._

Erotic flashes of the previous night painted Will’s cheeks with fresh colour. ‘I vaguely recall something along those lines.’ He sat up and surveyed the wreckage of the bed. ‘Your valet is going to hate you.’

‘Not at all. Dolarhyde lives for chaos.’

‘Well, then, he will love me.’ The stretch of interlocked hands above his head as he yawned with unabashed gracelessness seemed to have a peculiar effect upon Hannibal, who cast aside the pad with almost startling haste and prowled back to the bed, a determined gleam in fire-dark eyes. Will found himself seized around the waist and pulled into Hannibal’s lap, arranged so that his back was to Hannibal’s chest. Another moment, and Hannibal had shifted to sit up against the headboard.

‘You are a vain little thing. And entirely _mine_. Do you understand?’

Will shivered with delight at this possessive show. His pause before replying was deliberately long, and he half-yelped, half-giggled as sharp teeth nipped at a lobe. ‘Ouch. Yes, I understand,’ adding with a provocative wriggle, ‘sir.’ He looked down at Hannibal’s hands, spread large across his belly, and placed his own hands atop them. ‘As long as _you_ are also _mine_.’

A stubbled cheek rubbed lightly against his own. ‘Do you doubt it?’

Will’s eyes half-shuttered in delight. ‘No, but -’ Here he faltered. How to confess and not sound like a petulant lover?

‘Is it this?’ And one of Hannibal’s hands slipped free, to scoop from the bedside table the pocket watch. He dangled it before Will, who reached up to still its swaying and caress absently the engraved back.

‘Will you tell me about it now? Or would it pain you too much?’

A light sigh ruffled his hair. ‘No, darling, it would not. And I should tell you. It is time.’

At this, a slight chill of fear almost prompted Will to retract his request. If Hannibal should declare this Donald to be the one true love of his life… If ever the man should return to claim him… But such wild thoughts were hardly productive. ‘Tell me, then,’ he prompted huskily, burrowing back more snugly in mute claim of his own.

Hannibal’s voice softened, sombre and reflective. ‘His name, as I told you before, was Donald. Donald Sutcliffe. He and I met up at Oxford when we both were seventeen. Unique amongst our peers, we took our studies seriously. It bonded us, and within half a year we were lovers.’

Ridiculous to feel hurt by the admission. It was not even a surprise. But Will ached for the cruelty of a fate that would deny _him_ the right to have met Hannibal as Donald had done - as an equal in age as well as station, that _they_ might have been allowed to enjoy together all the precious years that could never be given back. Flushing at the supreme selfishness of such thoughts, Will tightened his hold on Hannibal’s hand. ‘Go on.’

‘At the end of our second year, I returned home to visit with my family. Donald’s were already in London for the Season, and we had arranged to meet there in August.’ The darkening of his tone was hint enough of what was to come; even so, Will expelled a shocked breath as Hannibal revealed with grim finality, ‘Two days before I was due to quit Cambridgeshire, I received a letter from Donald’s parents informing me that he had been killed. Witnesses said that he had been one of a small party conversing in the street, and in an apparent moment of carelessness he had stumbled into the path of a carriage and four. The speed at which the horses were travelling prevented Donald’s companions from dragging him clear, although by all accounts they had tried.’ 

How was it possible to offer comfort? Will tried anyway, turning to press soft kisses wherever he could reach. ‘I am sorry. How appalling that must have been for you.’ He rested his face in the crook of Hannibal’s neck. ‘And the watch?’

‘The watch was a gift to mark our first year together.’ Hannibal’s chest rose and fell on a deep sigh. ‘Perhaps it was mawkish of me to have carried it around for all of these years.’

‘You loved him. Love him,’ amended Will hastily, trying to swallow around the huge lump that had formed in his throat. 

‘Will?’ 

Tender concern was the very last thing he needed, and with child-like determination he resisted Hannibal’s attempts to coax his head up. ‘What?’ His voice was muffled and far too high for his liking.

‘Turn around. I would look at you.’

‘I am perfectly comfortable as I am, thank you.’

‘With your neck twisted like that? Come now.’ 

Gentle fingers attempted to prise him free. For a wild moment, Will thought to bite them. That, for sure would see him granted solitude to mope and sulk. But even as he entertained such self-mocking ideas, Hannibal’s hands began a different sort of manipulation, stroking soothingly up and down his chest. A nail caught on a nipple, and Will gasped, jerking upright. Hannibal hooked his chin over Will’s shoulder, chuckling in his ear. ‘I suppose, if I cannot be permitted to see your face, I shall have to content myself with admiring the rest of you.’

Downward then, to skim the length of Will’s cock, and up again to pluck at Will’s nipples. Arousal crashed over him, fierce and strong. Defiantly, however, he withheld his moans and contented himself with rutting down against the shape growing hard between his naked cheeks, a shape pinned still in place by Hannibal’s breeches. 

‘You want this now?’ Ah, _there_ was the unsteadiness in usually smooth tones. ‘We could talk more first.’

‘We could talk more,’ agreed Will, seeking Hannibal’s hand and placing it on his rising cock. ‘ _After_ wards.’ He lifted up, allowing his lover to free his own cock, before settling back down carefully, thighs spread out on either side of Hannibal’s hips. 

Some shame accompanied the silent admission that this was a reclaiming of no subtlety whatsoever. But what of that when his body was aflame, squirming beneath Hannibal’s teeth and fingers, and thick cock rubbing wet between his legs? Soon Will was arching, grasping, impaling himself, and shuddering out sighs as he took his lover within his body. Still a little sore from the previous night, he welcomed the distraction of pain.

‘Will, slow down.’ 

The strain in Hannibal’s voice, the bruising grip on Will’s hips, was elating. He leaned back, linking his hands around Hannibal’s neck, the sweet brush of Hannibal’s cock tip rendering him almost insensible with pleasure. ‘N-no, this is perfect. Please, Hannibal, I want you to - to -’

Fingers, slippery with oil, circled and stroked him, hard and fast. ‘Come for me, my wild little wolf.’

Hannibal growled the words, feeling the last of his self-possession slip away as Will clenched taut around him, spurting hot liquid over his fist. The little wailing cries that followed were Hannibal’s undoing, and he squeezed shut his eyes in almost unbearable pleasure as Will’s exquisite tightness wrung from him his own powerful orgasm.

***

Ten minutes and another cursory clean-up later, Hannibal reflected that perhaps a dip in the ornamental lake was in order. Whenever, that was, they could finally peel themselves from out of each other’s arms. Somewhere in the house, a clock struck nine. It was not yet _terribly_ late, he reasoned, tightening his arms around his boy’s pleasure-lax body. Will’s first lesson with Anthony was not due to begin for another couple of hours. 

As if he had been eavesdropping on these thoughts, Will stirred against him. ‘How long can we stay here?’

‘Hm.’ Hannibal peered down into eyes of slumberous blue. ‘That depends on whether you would like to have a bath drawn before breakfast or brave the waters outside. Anthony will be expecting you in the study at eleven, and I intend to deliver you one way or another.’ He kissed away Will’s pout. ‘You agreed to his coming.’

‘Yes, well, that was before - you know.’ Will rocked his hips gently against Hannibal’s. His expression was a charming mixture of embarrassment and determined seductiveness.

‘Oh, I know well enough. And yet,’ shifting slightly to tuck Will into his side, ignoring his whine of protest, ‘he is here now. We might as well allow the poor man to do his job.’

‘I suppose so. A swim, then.’ There was a small silence. When Will again spoke, it was with disconcerting timidity. ‘Hannibal, what would be your opinion of my learning land management rather than studying the classics at university?’

A flood of relief at the idea of not, after all, having to part with Will for months on end was tempered by caution. ‘I would first wish to know for how long you had harboured such a desire.’

Will raised himself on his elbows, crossing his arms over Hannibal’s chest, and regarding him with unblinking earnestness. ‘I know what you would say, but this is not about us, I swear. Indeed, it has been my dream for several years. If your steward would agree to take me on as apprentice…’

‘I should think that Wells would be thrilled at the mere prospect. He has no son to teach the business to. And,’ added Hannibal dryly, ‘He, like the rest of us, is not getting any younger.’ 

‘Then you agree?’ 

Hannibal smiled at the eagerness in Will’s voice. ‘I shall speak to Wells when he returns from the north, and if he is amenable - as I am sure he will be - you may begin under his tutelage in another year or so.’

‘Oh.’ Predictably, Will’s face fell. ‘Why not straight away?’

‘Because firstly, Anthony is expecting to continue as your tutor until Christmas; and after that, I should like to take you to Italy for perhaps a year.’

‘A year in Italy?’ Excitement warred with dismay in Will's expression. ‘I would love to go away with you, truly, but why for so long? For what purpose?’

_A honeymoon._

Disconcertment gave Hannibal pause. It was one thing to give in to becoming Will’s lover, but to tie him to him forever? Never, he hoped, would he be so cruel, so selfish. He thrust aside the errant thought.

‘The Grand Tour, of course.’ His smile was a trifle forced. ‘I applaud your ambition, Will, and certainly it makes sense given your background. But art and culture has still an important part to play in the education of every young man.’

Hannibal watched as Will mulled over his words. He was thankful that his reference to Wells being in the north of the country seemed to have passed Will by. Luckily, more startling news had drawn attention from his carelessness.

‘Do you think that you could agree to such terms?’

Will’s eyes flicked back to his and he grinned. ‘Actually, I think them to be rather splendid.’

They sealed their bargain with a long kiss, at the end of which Hannibal swatted Will’s pink backside lightly. ‘Come, we should decamp to the gardens and take that swim.’ 

It was necessary for Will to return to his bedchamber and retrieve his clothes - breeches and shirt only, as per Hannibal’s instructions. After their swim, Dolarhyde could dress them properly. Out of long habit, Hannibal picked up the watch chain, and he was in the act of absently attaching it to his breeches when Will walked back in. He caught the flash of pain in Will’s eyes as the boy glanced down at the pocket watch before looking hastily away again, and cursed himself for a fool. 

But when he began to unloose the chain, Will’s abrupt words stayed his hand. ‘Leave it. I would not ask you to give up such a precious thing.’

The fact that Will was clearly upset, although doing everything in his power to hide the fact, made it all too clear to Hannibal that the only truly precious thing in the room was his beautiful boy. Keeping his eyes on Will, he yanked at the chain until it split the buttonhole, and threw the watch across the room. It skidded into a far corner and lay on its back, spinning slowly. 

‘Come here, Will.’ Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hannibal held out his hands. 

Will fairly flew across the room and jumped into his lap, twining his arms around Hannibal’s neck and whispering fraughtly, ‘Why would you do such a thing? It was a gift from the man you love.’

‘Loved, Will.’ Heart full, Hannibal admitted gruffly, ‘And although I believe that I did love him as much as I was able, I know now that it was a shadow of the feeling I have for you.’

‘What?’ If anything, Will looked even more distraught. ‘Do not say such things to appease me. I could not bear it if you were humouring me.’

Hannibal cupped his boy’s face and kissed his way across brow, cheeks and nose tip. ‘I have no appetite for _humouring_ people, Will. You should know that by now.’

‘Then tell me at once what you mean.’

‘Imperious child,’ he chided gently. ‘Must you have me say it here, now?’

The thrust of Will’s jaw was mutinous, his piercing gaze unrelenting. ‘I must.’

‘You know,’ began Hannibal, keeping his voice as steady as he was able given the trying fact that he was holding in his arms a boy practically vibrating with need, ‘it occurs to me now that Donald was, in a way, a negative that has allowed me to recognise the positive.’

‘What are you talking about?’ The words were practically sobbed into his shoulder. 

Hannibal tightened his hold. ‘The fact that, had you and I never met, then perhaps I would have spent the rest of my life believing that I knew all that love could be. I shall always remember Donald as my first, but you,’ pulling back to pin Will with an ardent gaze, ‘you are my everything.’ He swallowed, and confessed roughly, ‘I love you, Will.’

Perhaps it was too soon. Perhaps he was wrong to have allowed himself the indulgence of admitting his feelings out loud. But the catch in Will’s breath, the joy that shone from tear-washed eyes, quickly banished such misgivings. And tears swam in his own eyes as his boy vowed fiercely in return, ‘I love you, Hannibal. I love you terribly. And,’ murmured against his lips, ‘I will love you forever.’


	15. Chapter 15

A few weeks passed during which, outwardly at least, very little save the weather and the season changed. During the day, Will dedicated himself to his studies, Anthony Dimmond continuing to provide a first class education as well as the odd knowing wink whenever Hannibal visited the library on some tenuous pretext or other. He would be looking for a particular book, or returning one, or inspecting the window curtains for moths. Will, being unable to withhold his blushes, had quickly given the game away, although at least Mr Dimmond had stopped short of challenging them openly. And Will found that he could contend very happily with a few silly daytime winks when at night… oh, at night.

The first evening after their mutual declaration of affection, he had retired first and gone straight to his bedchamber, uncertain of what would be expected of him - or of what he, in turn, was allowed to expect. Not a half hour later, Hannibal had stridden in, scooped him out of bed, and carried him through to his own chamber with nary a word. And ever since, Will had used his rooms only to change and wash. It was Hannibal’s bed that he crawled into night after night, naked and wanting; it was Hannibal’s arms that he slept in, sticky and sated. 

The secrecy that Hannibal insisted on - which, when pressed, he had called _discretion_ \- grated a little. But what a churl Will would be to complain, when he was being worshipped and pleasured and _loved_ in ways hitherto denied him. So he stopped pressing, and they settled quickly into an amicable routine of daytime conversations and nighttime intimacies. 

On the first day of September, Margot arrived, an event to which Will had been long looking forward. And on that very same afternoon, as their guest oversaw the unpacking of her trunk and took a little time to rest after her journey, a servant arrived with an invitation to the whole household for the following Saturday.

‘A ball at Cley Hall?’ Will wrinkled his nose and dropped the embossed card back onto its silver tray. ‘Must we go?’

Hannibal stirred his tea, eyes flicking from the discarded card to Will. ‘Of course not. But what of your friend? Would you deprive her of society for the sake of an evening?’

‘No.’ Sullenly, Will declared, ‘But Lord Cley is a high price to pay, even for friendship.’

‘Dear me, Will.’ Hannibal’s tone was mild, belying the salaciousness of the words that followed. ‘If Miss Verger and Mr Dimmond were not shortly to be joining us, I do believe I would even now be finding a better use for that mouth of yours than uttering complaints about my shoddy neighbour.’

Will’s eyes rounded and his breathing grew shallow as his mind helpfully provided graphic illustrations of all the ways in which his mouth could, under different circumstances, be shortly employed. Their lovemaking had, thus far, taken place only in shadow, concealed by the bashful night. ‘I wish you would,’ he said huskily. ‘Whatever it is, I would do it gladly. For you, I would do anything.’

A sharp inhale, and a fierce flare in honey dark eyes, drew Will up and around the table. He glanced fleetingly at the closed door before parting Hannibal’s knees and settling between them. ‘Go on,’ he dared, flicking out his tongue to moisten lips suddenly dry with nervousness. ‘Instruct me.’

‘You know that I cannot. _We_ cannot.’

‘Oh, but we can.’ Leaning in, elbows resting on Hannibal’s thighs, Will unbuttoned Hannibal’s breeches front fall. He glanced upwards. ‘If we are very careful. So I suggest that you watch that door while I put _this mouth of mine_ to its best use.’

Will was unsurprised to find Hannibal fully erect by the time he pulled him free. How beautiful he was - and how intimidating in full daylight. Still, it was with a sigh of delight that he took the glistening head between his lips and fell to sucking with ravenous enthusiasm. The imminent danger of discovery added a piquant urgency that had Will aching and Hannibal shaking apart in very little time, and Will had to swallow frantically in order to catch every pearlescent drop. Afterwards, he laid his cheek against Hannibal’s knee, tracing soothing circles on it, as his lover’s ragged breathing grew gradually calmer. Will was still painfully hard, but to say that he would be pushing his luck to ask for reciprocation was an understatement.

A knock at the door left no time for anything more than a hasty separation and the strategic positioning of a handy book before a servant admitted Margot and Mr Dimmond. 

‘I am so sorry to have kept you waiting,’ said Margot, sweetly apologetic, as Hannibal stood up in courteous acknowledgement and Will smiled sheepishly from his seat.

‘Poor Miss Verger got lost,’ remarked Mr Dimmond cheerfully, flinging himself into his customary chair. ‘You managed to put her even further away from the main bedchambers than me, and I thought that _I_ was practically Rapunzel in the tower.’

Margot seemed hardly to know where to look. ‘My rooms are perfectly lovely, thank you, Lord Raven.’

Grinning, Will motioned to the silver service. ‘Have some tea. And then you can tell us what you know of Cley Hall.’

***

After lunch, while Hannibal and Mr Dimmond went out shooting with the promise of bagging a brace of pheasant for Sunday dinner, Will took Margot on a tour of the house and gardens. 

‘It is a beautiful estate.’ Arm looped through Will’s, Margot gazed around in appreciation. ‘And well-tended. Is that estate manager you wrote to me about back now?’

‘Two days since.’ Will had not yet plucked up the courage to ask Hannibal whether Wells’ return meant that Wolf Hall had finally been sold, and in truth he was in no hurry to do so. He was happy - _they_ were happy. Why risk spoiling that by dredging up the memory of their sordid beginning? ‘Tell me now, have you seen much of Miss Bloom this past month?’

‘Not as much as I would have liked. Her uncle removed her shortly after you left for Cambridgeshire.’ The unhappy twist of Margot’s mouth tugged at Will’s sympathies.

‘I am sorry that you were left alone. I have missed you, my dear friend.’

‘And I you.’ Margot seemed to shake herself free of whatever unhappy thoughts had momentarily claimed her. ‘But never mind that now. I declare that we shall have a marvellous time in these three weeks before I return to Derbyshire.’

‘Most assuredly. And,’ added Will with a touch of wickedness, ‘when we are at the ball, I shall not be in the least offended if you dance every dance with your Alana.’

Margot stopped, smiled sadly and shook her head. ‘Will, you are as astute as ever. But whatever my feelings are for Miss Bloom, and whatever hers are for me, I am destined for a different path.’

‘Your father?’ 

‘His plans for his children involve the expansion of Verger land, not the fracturing of his family.’ Her laugh was uncharacteristically bitter. ‘For as long as his family can be of use to him, that is. I have been given to understand that a certain industrialist, whose property adjoins ours to the north, is keen to make a match for his only son and heir.’

‘Let him have Mason, then.’

‘Ah, but Papa and - this man - wish for heirs.’

‘ _This man_? Margot, you are being horribly mysterious. Who on earth can you be speaking of?’ He knew, of course. For how many estates owned by industrialists and abutting Verger land could there possibly be? But he had to hear it said aloud.

‘Mr Thomas Brown,’ confessed Margot miserably. 

‘Then you are expected to marry -’

‘Matthew Brown. Yes. So you see, Will, Miss Bloom is not mine.’ 

The idea of Margot being thrown away on a man of such uncertain character made Will feel sick. ‘Has anything been formally agreed between you and Mr Brown?’

‘Oh no. Mr Brown may not even be aware that there is anything to be agreed.’ Upon Will’s confused look, Margot explained, ‘I overheard them, you see, his father and mine - plotting over wine and cards. As far as Papa is concerned, I am also ignorant of their plans.’

‘Well, then.’ Mind working busily, Will patted Margot’s hand. ‘Nothing is yet forbidden to you. And in that spirit, I intend to issue a standing invitation to Miss Bloom to visit here as often as she would like.’

‘Do you now? Well, my dear Will,’ commented Margot with a grateful look and a speculative smile, ‘I am very glad to know that your relationship with Lord Raven is on so intimate a footing as to allow you such freedoms.’

Thinking of some of the _other_ freedoms that lately he had been allowed, Will was hard pressed not to blush scarlet.


	16. Chapter 16

Lord Cley’s country house was significantly more gracious than the pile at Berkeley Square which had, as Hannibal recalled, left on Will so unfavourable an impression. It was a pity that none of said graciousness had rubbed off on the owner himself. He swaggered about, as pompous as Hannibal had ever seen him, greeting guests and issuing orders. Will had suffered the earl’s leering greeting for precisely ten seconds before dragging Miss Verger away, leaving Hannibal to contend with an affronted Chilton and a mirthful Anthony.

Granted, Chilton knew how to throw a party. The drinks were plentiful, huge silver punch bowls like turtles on their backs set in every room. And all around, plates of sweetmeats tempted guests to spoil their appetites before dinner: sugared almonds, decadent caramels, and marzipan candies fashioned into miniature fruits. The orchestra was already in full flow, the strains of an English country dance and voices raised in excitable synchronicity floating through from the main ballroom. 

‘Shall we?’ Anthony gestured to the open doorway. 

‘The dance has begun already.’ Hannibal shrugged. ‘We have at the least a half hour of liberty before the next.’

‘Ah,’ said his twinkling companion, ‘but dear Will has ventured already into the throng. Do not pretend that you are not curious as to what he is about.’

‘I know precisely what he is about.’ A fond smile tugged at Hannibal’s lips. ‘Reuniting Miss Verger and Miss Bloom, and then leaving them together on some pretext.’

‘He told you this?’ 

‘He did not need to.’

Perhaps Hannibal had allowed too much feeling into his voice, for Anthony’s next words were startling in their directness.

‘Neither do you need to continue to pretend that you are not most desperately in love with him.’

‘Anthony, really.’ 

But his glare did little to deter his friend, who moved closer still, a rare note of seriousness entering his voice as he asked, ‘Why do not you marry the boy and have done with all this play-acting?’

‘That is enough,’ snapped Hannibal, thoroughly unsettled. ‘You forget yourself.’

‘I am your friend.’

‘Friend or not, my personal business is my own and I shall conduct it as I see fit.’

Hands raised in conciliation, Anthony said wryly, ‘I realise that I am in danger of exceeding the bounds of our relationship, but allow me to add one thing.’

‘And that would be?’ Exasperated, Hannibal resolved on losing his _friend_ in the crowd as soon as possible.

Anthony had yet one final stinging observation. ‘That Will Graham is deserving of more than a poorly-concealed affair.’

Paling, Hannibal bit out two words before walking away. ‘I know.’

Desperate suddenly to lay eyes again on Will, he entered the tumultuous throng of the ballroom with little care for the greetings thrown his way from left and right. True to his earlier prediction, he soon spotted Miss Verger and Miss Bloom standing close together by themselves, partially screened by a potted palm, although neither looked as happy as he would have expected, given the few tactful hints that Will had dropped about the status of their relationship. 

He was scouring the ensemble for a sighting of Will when a heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder, and a voice he had wished never to hear again slurred at his shoulder, ‘Well, well. At last. Here we are again in the very same house - nay, in the very same room! What miracle can have occurred to accomplish such?’

‘Lord Shriver.’ Grim-faced, Hannibal shrugged off the viscount’s damp touch and turned in reluctant acknowledgement. ‘What brings you so far from Mayfair?’ 

Pale eyes bored into him. ‘Well now, when society deserts one, what is a fellow to do but follow?’

‘Take the hint, perhaps?’ Hannibal stared back with equal directness. ‘What happened that night taught a hard lesson to most of us. A pity it does not seem to have had the same effect on you.’

‘Why should it have?’ A hateful sneer twisted thin lips. ‘Lord Wolf was the cause of his own downfall. As for his death, fate stepped in and decided _that_. Is it my fault that it happened in my home?’

‘In your home? No.’ Hannibal ran contemptuous eyes over the viscount’s gaudy attire and slouching form. ‘But in a room which existed only for the humiliation of desperate men? Most definitely.’

‘Need I remind you of the part you played in all of it? Not just on the night in question but on so many other nights, when you relieved gentleman after gentleman of their purses?’ As hateful as was that needling voice, the charge could not be denied.

‘I shall never need reminding.’ Hannibal’s voice was low, heavy with regret. ‘Nor shall I ever forgive myself for it. But I have learned the true cost of such folly, and never again will I risk repeating it. Can you say the same, Lord Shriver?’

‘ _I_ have moved on.’ The insolent fellow even sounded a touch bored. 

But moved on to what? ‘Is that why you have come north? To seek better fortune?’ Or someone else’s.

‘If I were in search of such, then here would be as good a place to start as any.’ The manner in which Lord Shriver surveyed the dancers, greedy, covetous, was repellent. ‘But for now, I seek proper introductions for my daughter rather than myself.’

Ah yes, the daughter. ‘I had heard that she was out in society at last.’

‘She is out because I have deemed it the right time for her to be so,’ replied Lord Shriver shortly, eyes still on the dance. ‘Even so, she is under my strict supervision. Young people are far too careless of their persons these days.’

Unwilling to stay a moment longer talking with his objectionable acquaintance, Hannibal bowed and moved off. How, he wondered, had the evening taken so unpleasant a turn so quickly? He scanned the room again: there was Anthony over by the long windows which overlooked the gardens, talking gaily with a youth whose face was for the moment obscured; the Misses Verger and Bloom were still together, although something at the far end of the room appeared to be holding them in horrified thrall. Hannibal followed their line of sight and saw to his chagrin that Molson and Mason Verger were also in attendance, huddled together with another gentleman of approximately Molson Verger’s age. Had Chilton intended to bring together the worst elements of London society, he could not have drawn up a better list of guests, acknowledged Hannibal grimly.

It was now imperative that he located Will, and the sight of his boy performing a graceful turn at the top of the set, hand in hand with a young lady of modest stature and demure mien, relaxed him somewhat. Yet her face - it was a face that, as he looked more closely, grew more horribly familiar every moment. _Abigail Hobbs_. Swiftly, Hannibal turned back to the onlooking crowd, and as his gaze collided with that of Abigail’s father, the look of glee with which he was met sent cold horror crashing through him. This was deliberate. This was spite. This was Jacob Hobbs’ design.

***

‘He said what?’ laughed Will, taking advantage of the turn to glance to where Margot and Alana, to his immense satisfaction, still stood together, sipping punch and, he hoped, arranging to meet within a day or two at Raven House.

‘You find it surprising that my father considers you a suitable dancing partner?’ 

‘I find it surprising that your father considers me at all,’ confessed Will. ‘How does he even know of me?’

‘Oh, Papa has his ways of finding things out.’ Airy, unconcerned, Abigail curtsied as the dance came to a close, and accepted Will’s hand as they walked from the floor. ‘To me he is just Papa, but in London society he is, as you know, an important man.’

‘Pardon me for saying so,’ smiled Will, ‘but I am afraid that I do not know.’

‘Surely you tease,’ she exclaimed. ‘Why, Papa has told me of his close acquaintance with your own father, and how Lord Wolf was a frequent visitor to Minnesota Place. I was so sorry,’ she added hastily, ‘to hear of his passing.’

Mind a whirl, Will shook his head. ‘Wait. Where exactly is Minnesota Place?’

‘In Mayfair. My father used to host parties for his friends there all the time.’ Blankly, she stared up at him. ‘Were not you there yourself some weeks ago, with Mr Mason Verger’s party? Papa said that you were.’

He was going to be sick. In front of all of these elegant people and the young girl whose words were, even now, driving shards of ice into his heart. ‘Miss Hobbs, please tell me.’ He hardly dared ask the question, and part of him wanted not to. But he had to know. ‘Is your father - is he Lord Shriver?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Turning away from guileless eyes of blue, head pounding, Will searched wildly for a way out. For how could he stay with this terrible knowledge gnawing at him? Lord Shriver, the man whose iniquitous entertainments had facilitated his father’s demise, was here in this very room. And as if that were not appalling enough…

Spying Anthony, Will began to push through the milling people towards him. He might know where Hannibal was, and then - but the air left his lungs in a whoosh as he recognised Anthony’s companion: a grinning, carefree _Matthew Brown_. With a growl, he charged straight towards them, and delivered to Matthew’s cheek a slap of such force that it sent the boy rocking back on his heels.

‘Will, what the devil are you about?’

Ignoring Anthony’s outburst of dismay, and the enthralled whispers of those around them, Will pointed an accusing finger at Matthew. ‘Did you know? When you came to that _private entertainment_ in Mayfair and there met with Mr Verger and myself, did you know that it was Lord Shriver’s house, the very place where my father had lost his fortune shortly before losing his life?’

Rubbing his cheek, Matthew looked at him resentfully. ‘And what of it if I did? You were there of your own volition, and that you cannot deny. No one forced you to sit at one of Lord Shriver’s tables, or to gamble with his chips, or to drink so much of his wine that you needed _dear Matty_ to escort you back to your guardian’s house at the end of the evening.’

‘What is this?’ Thunderous, Hannibal descended on them like a wrathful god, amber eyes blazing. ‘Sir, I would speak with you privately.’

It took a moment for Will to realise that this imperious tone was being directed at _him_ , and the injustice of it almost choked him. ‘Certainly,’ he managed, and stalked past the open-mouthed onlookers into a tapestried ante-room that was thankfully empty of all but a few pieces of furniture. Too agitated to sit down, he paced to the window and pressed his hot forehead to the cold glass. ‘Go on, then. Have at me.’

The door clicked closed, but it was several seconds before Hannibal again spoke. ‘You neglected to tell me that you were out with Mr Brown as well as Verger the night you won your twenty pounds, and that it was Brown who brought you home.’

‘Because I did not think it important.’

‘What rot.’ Glowering, Hannibal demanded, ‘Is there anything else you failed to tell me about that night? A goodnight kiss, for instance?’

‘A what?’ Will spun around, hardly able to believe his ears. 

‘Well, it would certainly explain your clutching eagerness when you fell through the doorway into my arms. Get you all riled up, did he?’

If anything smaller than a chair had been to hand, Will would in that moment have aimed it squarely at Hannibal’s head.

‘Such moral outrage,’ hissed Will, eyes smarting, ‘when _you_ neglected to tell _me_ that Abigail Hobbs was the daughter of the man whose gambling den was my father’s ruin.’

A flash of pain dissipated before Will could be certain that he had seen it. ‘I told you that I was no longer on good terms with the Hobbs family. Was not that enough?’

‘Half truths,’ dismissed Will bitterly, straightening up to look accusingly at his lover. The few feet between them might as well have been a hundred miles. ‘Why did not you trust me enough to tell me straight away who he was? I knew already of the part _you_ played that night. Why would my seeing this man for who he really was make any difference to you?’ The bleakness of Hannibal’s gaze sent Will’s stomach lurching again. ‘Tell me, Hannibal, or I swear I shall leave this instant.’

‘Telling you is not likely to alter that outcome. But very well. What do you know of your father’s death?’

‘I know that he suffered a sudden apoplexy,’ he replied woodenly, ‘and that it killed him instantly.’

‘It did.’ Softly, then, ‘I had barely enough time to loosen his cravat and call for a doctor before he was gone.’

‘What?’ Dizzy, Will sought a nearby chair and lowered himself into it. ‘You were there? But how? I do not understand.’

‘Will.’ With a groan, Hannibal dropped to his knees before him, and although he did not attempt to reach out, his eyes conveyed with eloquence the strength of his feeling. ‘This is why I dreaded telling you. How could I expect you to hear that your father died practically in my arms and not have you hate me?’

‘Oh.’ He saw it now painly, in all of its ugliness. Lord Wolf, on a quest for self-destruction, had thrown away in one night his house, his fortune and his very life. Will raised pain-filled eyes to Hannibal’s. ‘He died at the table?’

‘He - yes, as good as. I am sorry, Will.’

‘You should have told me.’ And without giving Hannibal a chance to respond, Will took hold of his shoulders and shook him. ‘Stupid, stupid man.’ 

A flicker of annoyance returned, and Will almost rejoiced to see it. ‘Yes, I do not know what I was thinking when I had _this_ reaction to look forward to.’

‘You are so arrogant,’ breathed Will, ‘deciding what I would and would not feel - what I might and might not understand. Has never it occurred to you that thinking of my father dying alone and afraid has been the cause of much of my unhappiness?’ He shook his head, running trembling fingers down Hannibal’s cold cheek. ‘Only to learn that he was not alone, and that you - who could have stepped over him and relinquished all responsibility - attempted to save him. And held him as you did so.’

Hannibal pulled away from his touch. ‘I was no hero, Will.’

‘No, you were not.’ Steadily, Will looked into his lover’s strained face. ‘You were - are - a flawed man who, when it mattered, acted with decency and honour. And that,’ he muttered unsteadily, an instant before he crushed their lips together, ‘is why I love you, you fool.’


	17. Chapter 17

Hannibal returned the kiss with all the fervency and relief of a man granted a stay of execution. Murmuring Will’s name against lips petal soft, he sought entrance and groaned as Will opened to him without hesitation. Almost roughly, he anchored his hands in Will’s hair, and welcomed the fierce clutch of Will’s fingers at his shoulders. This was no tender kiss: this was a reclamation, all-invasive, all-consuming. And entirely mutual.

The sweetness of Will’s smile as they pulled apart quite stole Hannibal’s breath. He stared, blinked, stared again.

‘Well?’ asked Will with delicious archness, ‘Will not you say it to me?’

‘Say what, precisely?’ With a sharp grin and a tug, Hannibal pulled Will down into his lap. ‘That I thank the gods every day for you? That I can hardly credit how blessed I am to have the right to hold you thus and kiss you, and know that later I may spread you bare on my bed and cover you with my body and join with you?’ Nuzzling their noses together, he whispered, ‘That I love you?’

‘Just so.’ 

But Will’s voice quivered, and for long moments Hannibal held him, silent, rocking him gently, heart full to bursting.

***

Their return to the ballroom did not go unnoticed: indeed, it could hardly have failed to be noted since it appeared that a great many pairs of eyes had been trained on the door of the ante-room since it had been closed against them. But now Hannibal met every one with a glare so withering, they each retreated with immediate haste, and not so much as a salacious whisper could be heard as he accompanied Will across the room in search of Anthony. They found him in a corner, drink in hand, expression unusually grave. And upon their approach, he hastened to meet them.

‘My dear Hannibal, Will, please forgive me for my interference earlier. When you came upon us so suddenly, I reacted out of ignorance.’

‘You could not have known.’ Will’s tone was all reassurance. ‘And I did fly at him rather.’

‘With good reason.’ Not for anything would Hannibal allow Will to start apologising. He cast a sharp glance about. ‘Where is Mr Brown now?’

‘He left with his father and the Vergers.’ Anthony looked none too happy about that. 

‘What of Miss Verger?’ asked Will anxiously.

‘At her father’s request, she has gone with them to the inn where they have put up, but she asked me to tell you that she will return to Raven House tomorrow, once she has seen them off.’ Anthony shook his head. ‘They are a poisonous lot - your friend Miss Verger excepted, of course, Will. But no wonder Mr Brown is the way he is with such role models. I hear that his father and Molson Verger are diabolically tight with each other.’

‘As, once, were my father and Mr Verger.’ Unhappiness tightened Will’s mouth, and Hannibal ached to see it. ‘Such alliances are, as you say, poisonous.’

‘Perhaps, were Mr Brown separated from them -’

‘Anthony,’ cut in Hannibal sharply, and he shook his head, a warning in his eyes. ‘Now is not the time for one of your pet projects. And I would prefer it if that young man’s name was not uttered again in my presence.’

To his credit, Anthony acceded without demur. ‘You should know that Lord Shriver is still in attendance - his daughter dances even now with Miss Bloom.’

Sure enough, there at the centre of a cotillion were, arm in arm, Miss Hobbs and Miss Bloom. The former appeared somewhat woebegone; the latter seemed at pains to comfort and reassure.

‘Poor Miss Hobbs.’ Hannibal could not help but stiffen at these words, although he made no attempt to draw away from Will’s conciliatory touch. ‘One cannot help one’s parentage, Hannibal.’

‘No,’ he replied, eyes fixed thoughtfully on the pair, ‘but in such cases, the apple has either the good fortune to be cast far from the tree, as is the case with your friend Miss Verger, or the mischance of falling directly beneath it, like her brother. It is yet to be determined which applies to Miss Hobbs.

For a moment, it looked as if Will would argue, but Anthony interjected to suggest that they all take refreshment before the cotillion ended. And as Hannibal was determined to claim Will for the next dance, he changed the subject rather than risking antagonising his prickly boy yet again. 

***

In the end they danced together thrice, dined at a table far from Lord Shriver and his daughter - who, in any case, had been favoured with positions at Lord Cley’s own table - and left as soon as Hannibal deemed it late enough for it not to be considered an affront.

Will fell asleep slumped against him in the carriage, and Hannibal wrapped an arm firmly around him, meeting Anthony’s interested glance with a terse, ‘I would not have him fall.’

‘Oh, Hannibal, give it up.’

***

Having been barely capable the previous night of shedding his clothes and crawling into bed, let alone embarking on any more energetic pursuits, Hannibal awoke with a splendid appetite and the delightful discovery that Will was busy already peeling out of the nightshirt that Hannibal had, upon their return home, spent an exhausting ten minutes trying to get him into. 

‘Good morning.’ 

At the sound of his voice, Will turned and smiled and lay back down, stretching out against him much like a luxuriating feline. ‘Mm. Good morning, my lord.’

Hannibal’s hand drifted down to close over one pert cheek and squeeze lightly. ‘What is this? Are not we any longer on a first name basis?’

A thumb rubbed firmly across his nipple. ‘Well, you are a lord.’

‘I am.’

‘And you are mine.’

‘Unquestionably.’

The thumb was replaced by a tongue tip, flicking back and forth until Hannibal growled and rolled Will beneath him. His cock was thick and heavy, and he rubbed it in the crease of Will’s thigh. Will sighed and wriggled and flushed a beautiful shade of rose.

‘Shall you taste me again when you prepare me?’

Hannibal chuckled. ‘Oh, so you liked that after all? Despite all of your protestations and coyness on the first and thus far only occasion on which I have done so?’

‘Yes.’ 

‘Brat. Come on, then. Over you go.’ To shrieks and giggles, Hannibal flipped the rascal onto his belly, and kissed downwards along his spine. ‘Perfect,’ he murmured, setting his teeth gently to reddened roundness. Will snorted with laughter, and Hannibal licked his way between those pert cheeks, ruthless in his retaliation. Soon he was lapping, tongue buried deep, abandoned to the act and wanting only to hear more drawn out cries. By the time he lifted his head, Will was panting and quivering, and Hannibal spread his hand across Will’s bottom to insinuate a seeking finger. 

Will shivered, arching up. ‘I love your hands, large and strong and veined. I love it when you touch me firmly.’

‘And when I penetrate you?’ Hannibal reached up and around to rub two fingers against Will’s lips. With what eagerness his boy opened for him, sucking him in with the filthiest of sounds. In truth, the oil was easily to hand atop the bedside table, but there was something so terribly, satisfyingly primal about slicking himself with _Will_. To begin with, at least. Fingers wet and warmed, Hannibal returned to massage the petal-soft little opening.

‘Mm. Yes, that most of all.’ Panting now into the sheets, Will pleaded, ‘That place inside - touch me there. Use your fingers on me’

‘How imperious you are, little wolf.’ 

Unthinkable to deny him, of course - to deny either of them. And so, in defiance of time or etiquette, Hannibal lost himself in pleasuring Will to the brink of tears. When he would have turned the boy to face him once again, he was met with a breathless ‘No, like this’ as Will scrambled up onto hands and knees. A small hand reached between them to take hold of Hannibal’s cock, and Hannibal gritted his teeth as Will worked himself back onto it, uttering high little sounds that almost caused Hannibal to finish before he was all the way in. He grasped Will’s narrow hips, pushing in as deep as he could go, before pulling out slowly until only the head remained inside.

‘Stay still.’ What satisfaction it gave him to enclose Will’s hot little cock within his fist. ‘Perfectly still.’ What satisfaction it gave him to thrust back in, hard, groaning as Will’s strong muscles milked him. ‘This is very naughty of you, Will.’

‘Why? You can do the same to me,’ replied Will breathlessly, peeking around at him and moving his hips in the most sinful fashion. ‘Go on. Squeeze me and make me come.’

In the event, they rocked together to climax, the clanking of the bed frame making Hannibal acutely thankful that he had arranged for their guests to be roomed on the other side of the house. Shudders wracked him as he emptied his seed inside Will, and he took a deal of satisfaction in the violence of Will’s own orgasm. His thrusts slowed, his hand stroking Will through the aftershocks. Every inch of Will demanded homage, light caresses and worshipful kisses. The scents of their passion hung heavy in the air; their skin was perfumed with each other. It was, in a word, beautiful. Still, they could not remain suspended in time. They eased apart; yet before Hannibal could feel so much as a pang, Will turned immediately to claim him anew, twining his limbs around him, kissing his cheek. 

‘May we rest here for a while longer or must we get up straight away?’

‘Ha. You have rendered me utterly incapable of getting up straight away, darling boy.’ Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will in his turn. ‘Rest, by all means. And when you are ready, you may return to your bedchamber and I shall send for your valet.’

Perhaps this none-too-subtle reminder of the difference in their ages was meant as some sort of test. ‘I shall rise when you rise,’ declared Will. ‘If you leave it to me to decide when, it shall be dinner time.’

There was, however, a point at which satiation shifted into discomfort, and Will was glad then to allow Hannibal to leave the bed and tend to them both. The trials of the previous evening set firmly aside, his thoughts returned to Margot. 

‘I hope that she returns to us quickly. Perhaps I should have gone after her last night.’

Hannibal finished patting him dry and planted a kiss on his raised knee. ‘You were right not to. Trust that your friend knows what she is about: she seems to me to be a most capable person.’

‘With the most ghastly family imaginable.’ Will sighed. ‘But I shall try to do as you say.’

‘How remarkable.’

Sticking out his tongue provoked another tumble, which was brought to an abrupt halt by a rap on the door.

‘My apologies for disturbing you, Lord Raven. A package has just arrived.’ 

It was the valet, Dolarhyde, as quiet in voice as he was in person. Will prepared to scramble from the bed, but Hannibal stayed him, reaching for the cast-off quilt and throwing it over Will before retrieving his banyan. Will watched him throw it on and secure the belt, standing tall and distinguished in red silk, even with disordered hair and an overnight growth of beard. He recalled the rasp of that beard between his thighs and felt a pulse of arousal. 

Meanwhile, Hannibal had stepped across to the door and opened it, although only partially. ‘Thank you, Dolarhyde. If you would be so kind as to return in ten minutes, I shall be ready to dress for breakfast. Bernadone can attend Mr Graham at the same time, in his chamber.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

The door closed and Hannibal turned, the rectangular package beneath his arm, a slip of paper held up between his fingers. ‘It is for you.’

‘Yet your valet delivered it to you.’ Slightly offended, Will raised his brows at Hannibal’s chuckle. ‘Something amuses you?’

Returning, Hannibal perched on the edge of the bed and handed over the note. ‘Vastly. Namely, the idea that Dolarhyde and Bernadone and the rest of the household staff are not fully cognisant of your presence in my bed.’

Fighting a blush, Will retorted, ‘I find that difficult to believe given that you do not seem at all upset by the idea.’

Hannibal’s response was to lean over and capture his lips in a thorough yet tender kiss. ‘Perhaps,’ he said softly as he drew back, ‘I am evolving.’

Warmed by this, Will nevertheless could not help but observe, ‘You did not allow Dolarhyde to enter just now.’

‘We are two single gentlemen, Will. I would prefer to maintain at least the appearance of propriety for the sake of your reputation.’

‘And yours.’

If you say so, although mine is far less pristine, my darling.’ With a rueful smile, Hannibal tapped the package and rose from the bed. ‘Now, I suggest that you put on your nightshirt and take yourself off to your bedchamber before Bernadone arrives.’

They parted with another kiss, then another, and Will was practically shoved out into the hallway when he attempted a further ravishment at the door. He was smiling, however, when he let himself into his own chamber. And he was smiling still as absently he unwrapped the package, thick brown paper peeling back to reveal a small pocket book. His smile wavered a little as the sight of its burgundy leather covering nudged at a memory, and it died completely when he opened the accompanying note and proceeded to read:

_Lord Wolf_

_You may recognise this as the property of the late Lady Wolf. How and why it came into my possession is a matter for another time. Suffice it to say that I have deemed it proper to return it to you now._

_Sincerely_

_A Friend (who shall, for the present, remain nameless)_

_Post scriptum: I have marked several pages which I believe you will find of particular interest._

Heart thumping, Will opened the pocket book to the first page. There it was, in his mother’s neat hand: _Property of Liliana Graham_. Brow crinkling, he turned to the next page. The first entry was dated _Tuesday the second of August seventeen hundred and eighty-five_. His parents' wedding day.

At the top was written a paraphrase from Romeo and Juliet: _Today, at St Oswald’s Church, Beaumont Graham shall make me there a joyful bride_. The choice of that particular quotation struck Will as peculiar, for had not Juliet uttered the true version of those words in defiant refusal of Count Paris' hand? Skimming through the rest of the entry, however, Will detected nothing of note. A list of guests, descriptions of the flowers in church, even a note about the weather. It was all perfectly ordinary. Subsequent entries followed, consisting of a recounting of daily tasks and more weather recordings. There was little of _joyfulness_ in evidence anywhere. Until, that was, Will turned a page and found it bookmarked with a sliver of paper, upon which were written the words _Wednesday last I met an angel_. They were not, however, in his mother’s hand, but rather in that of the anonymous letter writer. Will examined the heading of that day’s entry, dated a little under two weeks after the wedding: his parents at that time would have been in London, and the first sentence was confirmation of that fact.

_Our house overlooking St James’s Park affords a view most delightful._

Yet, as Will read on, he paled. 

_To look out now is to hope every day for the sight of my liberator, for Wednesday last I met an angel. We spoke for hours, about so many things. And before I knew it, I was agreeing to meet him again. The last few days have been the happiest of my existence. He alone knows my torment. He alone cares for me._

With trembling hand, Will turned the page. Another slip of paper and, upon it, in the same unknown hand, _in his arms I ascend._

_Beaumont left earlier than usual today. A precious hour longer for him to lavish on his beloved Almack’s. A precious hour longer for D and I. He is an angel indeed, for in his arms I ascend, caring nothing for convention or rules which, my friends have been eager to inform me, Beaumont was breaking even on the very night of our wedding._

His mother went on in this vein - romantic, bitter, sad, incandescent - and Will had almost determined to read no further when suddenly the entries stopped. Confronted by pages frustratingly blank, he began flicking through, desperate to find more of his mother’s words yet fearful at the same time. And then he saw it - a loose edge. He pulled it free and froze, for the words upon it were horribly familiar: _Manus in mano._

Hand in hand. 

The pages between which the paper had been nestled were filled with writing, and although unaccountably smudged, it was legible still. Cheeks burning, mouth dry, Will settled on the floor beside his bed and began to read.


	18. Chapter 18

_Sunday the twenty-fifth of June seventeen hundred and eighty-six._

_Today, I felt a revival of that happiness I had thought long since dead. Percival - a dear, sweet little boy to whom I have thus far paid such scant attention - lay in my arms and smiled for the first time. And in that smile I saw his father reborn, a reason to go on and the strength to accept my lot. Marriage to a murderer -_

‘Do you wish to dress now, my lord?’

The book slipped from Will’s fingers and he closed it with haste. Peter stood within the doorway, Will’s favourite green coat in hand.

‘Do not you knock any more?’ The words burst forth, spiteful and fearing. 

‘Forgive me, my lord, but I did knock. I heard nothing and so I thought I had better investigate. Forgive me.’ Peter looked almost distraught, and Will was consumed instantly with remorse.

‘Then it is my error, not yours.’ He scrubbed a hand through his hair. ‘And it is I who should ask for forgiveness. It was inexcusable of me to speak to you so. I am truly sorry, Peter.’

If anything, Peter looked even more upset. ‘Does something ail you, my lord? You do not seem at all yourself. May I be of assistance?’

‘No, I -’ The sudden remembrance that Hannibal would be waiting for him downstairs pushed Will into a sudden decision. ‘As a matter of fact, yes. You may ask Mr Dolarhyde to inform his master that I have a sudden headache and shall be resting in my room all morning. I would respectfully ask not to be disturbed.’

‘Very well, my lord.’ On his way out, Peter stopped and turned, hand on the doorknob. ‘Can I bring you a tray of something?’

‘No thank you, Peter.’ Food, he suspected, would choke him. ‘I shall come down for luncheon.’ _Or be ready with another excuse._

A nod, a final anxious glance, and Peter was gone. With barely-contained impatience, Will again snatched up the book, eyes skating over the page with stomach-churning dread yet wholly unable to cast it aside. With a trembling sigh, he resumed reading.

 _Marriage to a murderer is my punishment for weakness of character, I have long known that. Never should I have accepted him, caring at the time too much for the threat of being cast off and not enough for myself. Even when D came into my life like a miracle, I was inconstant. For had I been stronger, on the day that Beaumont caught us I should have flung myself under that carriage, sharing my love’s fate. How it haunts me still: the horror on his beautiful face as Beaumont shoved him to his death; my husband’s mocking pretence at saving him even as he held me back from doing just that; my poor D’s final words before he perished, words which he had shared with me often as both vow and promise. Manus in mano._

_I wonder sometimes about the other he left behind, whether he is as bereft as I. Perhaps if I had found him, explained as D would have done, had he lived, that we took no joy in the deceit - that we were at the mercy of forces greater than ourselves... But no. For even were it possible for me to discover his whereabouts, the truth would surely drive the future Lord Raven to exact a terrible revenge. Let this, then, be my final entry. I am resolved to lock away this book and with it my heart - play the dutiful wife and await the day when I am reunited with the man to whom I shall always consider myself wedded._

_Donald, my darling, let it not be too long._

Nor had it been, recalled Will with a bitter smile. How often Percy had talked with deep sadness of their mother, a sorrowful soul fading slowly over fourteen years - a ghost-in-waiting by the time Will had been born. And finally he knew the reason.

Donald Sutcliffe. 

It was a hammer blow that Will knew he had not yet felt the full force of. He sat nursing the book, one awful thought after another passing through his mind. Donald had been unfaithful to Hannibal with Will’s mother. Donald had sired Will’s elder brother. Donald had been murdered by Will’s father.

What trick of fate had brought together Hannibal and Beaumont Graham that night at Lord Shriver’s? What sly deity had devised so horrible an entanglement? It almost beggared belief. Unless… An insidious voice whispered awful possibilities. Could it be that Hannibal had known all along about the affair? Had learned that it was Liliana and Beaumont who had been with Donald on that final, fatal day, and guessed the rest? Had insinuated himself into Beaumont’s circle, learned his weaknesses and set about to exploit them? 

And then followed an even worse notion. 

Was Will his ultimate revenge? A deflowering of the only remaining son, taken as Hannibal’s lover yet denied the respectability of marriage? Soon, perhaps, to be exposed and then discarded? A whimper broke from Will’s lips and he clapped a hand over his mouth to suppress it. But oh, how it hurt. How his throat closed at even the _thought_ that all of this - this courtship, this long seduction - could be mere show. A pantomime of love. 

_He told you that he loved you. He_ showed _you that he loved you_. But that horrible voice, born of all his insecurities, taunted, _Only in private. And has ever he talked to you of marriage? You know full well that he has not._

The possibility that there could be even a sliver of truth in these fears clutched, cramping, at Will’s stomach. Cold sweat broke out upon his brow. And as he scrambled to his feet and rushed over to the washstand, he had time only to grip the edges of the porcelain bowl before retching into it with miserable violence.

***

Ostensibly settled in the drawing room with a book, Hannibal could not help but listen out for footsteps on the stairs in the outer hall that would signal Will’s descent. It was somewhat mortifying to think that their morning lovemaking could have helped Will on to a headache, although the likelihood was that it was in actuality a result of the previous evening’s imbibements. 

The ticking of the mantle clock had marked with tedious predictability the passage of two full hours before any movement at all could be detected in the rest of the house; but when Hannibal rose to investigate, he found only Margot Verger, windswept and flustered, handing off her bonnet to Umber.

‘Lord Raven, I must apologise for my decampment last night. My father was agitated by a profusion of drink, and I thought it best to see him settled in his lodging rather than leave him to my brother’s indifferent care.’ 

‘Umber, bring a pot of tea to the drawing room.’ Standing to one side, Hannibal indicated for Miss Verger to precede him. ‘Miss Verger, please, you look in need of refreshment.’ 

‘Thank you.’ The shadows beneath Margot Verger’s eyes were even more pronounced as they took seats by the sun-washed bay window. 

Will’s latest book was lying with typical flung carelessness on the window seat, and its neglected state niggled unaccountably at Hannibal. Usually, Will would himself be sitting there, back to the wooden panelling, knees drawn up, flashing every now and then a look at Hannibal across the room - provocative or satirical or affectionate, depending on his mood of the moment. 

Stomach clenching, Hannibal returned his attention to his guest, only to find that her gaze was directed at the very same place. 

‘Where is Will - Mr Graham?’ she amended hurriedly. 

Hannibal smiled. ‘Will has told me often of the closeness you have shared since you both were children, Miss Verger. It shall not mind if you address him informally, or refer to him so, in my presence. As to your question, Will is suffering from a headache this morning. I am assured, however, that he will be down for luncheon. In the meantime, let us see about that tea.’

The sweetness of the tea was marred somewhat by Will’s continued absence and by the restless preoccupation of Miss Verger, who alternated absent sips with long silences. Finally, setting down his empty cup and saucer, Hannibal cleared his throat to regain her attention.

‘Would you be offended if I made an observation, Miss Verger?’

‘I hope not,’ she replied with a startled little laugh, ‘but then I suppose that very much depends on the observation.’

‘Hm, I can see why Will thinks so highly of you. Honesty in conversation is rare these days.’

‘I shall take that as a great compliment, Lord Raven.’ And she smiled, setting down her own cup. ‘By all means, make your observation.’

Hannibal steepled his fingers beneath his chin. ‘You are wrestling with a dilemma, one of a delicate nature, and were hoping to discuss it with Will.’

After a slight hesitation, Miss Verger nodded. 

Given Hannibal’s knowledge of the Alana Bloom situation, he feared that any advice would be redundant, but thinking it wise to say nothing on a subject of which he was probably meant to be unaware, he waited for her to continue.

‘Miss Bloom is to pay a call here this afternoon, and I fear that she may ask me a question which I am not at liberty to answer.’ Green eyes were suddenly self-mocking. ‘I fear also that she will not.’

‘Allowing oneself to be a prisoner of fear is no way to live, Miss Verger.’

‘Yet for so long it is all that I have known.’ With a small sigh, Miss Verger seemed to shake herself free of introspection. ‘I am not usually so dull, Lord Raven. I confess that another reason for my staying away last night was to allow time for my good humour to return.’

‘It did not work?’

Her grimace was answer enough. ‘I should, of course, have realised the folly of hoping for better. My brother has been in high dudgeon for days; although oddly, this morning he was all smiles, whispering of goodness knows what to Mr Brown while my father searched frantically for a book that he keeps always about his person.’

‘Do you think perhaps that your brother might have taken it?’ 

‘Oh, I am certain of that.’

How very petty was Mason Verger, and how fervently Hannibal thanked the gods that the Verger men and Matthew Brown would shortly be vacating the county. ‘Perhaps you should share your suspicion with your father.’

‘And cast aspersions on his son?’ This laugh was more brittle than genuine. ‘That would result in unpleasantness for myself rather than for Mason. No, I shall leave Mason to his intrigues, and my father to his choices.’

At last came the sound of footsteps from the upper landing, but again Hannibal found himself doomed to disappointment when into the drawing room walked a bleary-eyed Anthony.

‘Heavens, how bright it is in here,’ he murmured disgustedly. ‘Is breakfast over?’

‘Anthony, really.’ With a click of his tongue, Hannibal ran disapproving eyes over his dishevelled friend. ‘How late did you stay up last night?’

‘Do not you mean this morning?’ Apparently catching sight of Miss Verger for the first time, Anthony straightened up at once. ‘Oh, pardon me, Miss Verger. How very louche you must consider my behaviour.’

‘Not at all. You forget,’ she said dryly, ‘I am used to the company of my brother.’

‘Ah, yes, well.’

The awkwardness of the moment was broken by the sound of the front door knocker and, a minute or two later, the arrival of Umber with a message. 

‘From the village, sir. And,’ as he handed it over, ‘Miss Bloom is here to see Miss Verger.’

‘Oh, then if you would excuse me, Lord Raven, Mr Dimmond.’ Eyes bright, Miss Verger rose from her chair, and Hannibal and Anthony did likewise. As soon as she had quitted the room, Anthony sat back down again with a groan. 

‘I do not know how I shall survive this day. Hannibal?’

But Hannibal was barely listening. He frowned down at the spidery handwriting on the folded paper, handwriting that was identical to that which had been emblazoned on Will’s note. What the deuce was going on? There was but one way to find out, and he opened the note with a strange sense of foreboding, scanning its contents with a rapidity born of growing dread. ‘Umber.’

‘Yes, my lord?’

Fingers white with tension, Hannibal refolded the note. ‘Please have luncheon served straight away. Anthony, if you would have the goodness to escort Miss Verger and Miss Bloom into the dining room?’

‘It would be my pleasure.’ Stepping up to Hannibal, Anthony enquired sotto voce, ‘And while I enjoy the company of those two delightful ladies, where shall you be?’

Slipping the note into an inner pocket, Hannibal started for the door. ‘With my ward. And, Umber, under no circumstances are we to be disturbed.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

***

The first intimation Will had of having fallen asleep was an insistent rapping on the inner door. The second, the uncomfortable realisation that his face was pressed to damp linen. Raising his head, he swiped at his cheeks and glared at the shuddering doorframe. 

‘What is it?’

‘Will, have you bolted this door?’ 

It was Hannibal, of course, and he sounded furious. It gave Will a moment’s stone cold satisfaction. ‘I may have.’

Silence seethed. ‘Well, would you please open it?’

‘The bolt is too stiff.’ What was one more lie between them?

Footsteps retreated, a door banged, and Will pushed himself up with a sigh, waiting for the inevitable. It came soon enough with the wrenching open of the outer door.

‘What,’ gritted Hannibal, flushed and grim, standing just inside the room with feet planted wide apart like some avenging god, ‘is the meaning of this?’ In his raised hand he held aloft a partially crumpled letter. 

‘How should I know?’ It was a relief to snap and snarl, to fill the void of his earlier despair with _something_. ‘I do not have the gift of second sight.’

‘Here.’ The paper was thrust at him. 

Determined not to flinch, Will took it and recognised immediately the distinctive hand. Yet here was no preamble, no pretence at civility.

 _Has he told you yet? Or did you know already? My, but I would love to be a fly on the wall for this conversation. I have, of course, made copies of the more… exciting entries. When you have had your little chat, you might want to decide on a price for my silence. I shall be in touch again very soon._

‘I had thought you to be feeling unwell.’ Hannibal’s stern glance was a chastisement of its own. ‘I was concerned about you. Now I see that you have been hiding.’ 

‘I have not,’ shot back Will. ‘Wishing to be alone is not hiding. Needing time to think is not hiding. Sitting and wondering exactly how much of my life is a lie _is not hiding_.’

Hannibal’s face was pale, his features stiff with tension. Will hated to see it, hated to see the white lines of strain bracketing his lover’s mouth. Yet he could not move from the bed, and his fists clenched in the sheet as they stared at each other across a chasm that had been thirty years in the making.

‘What was in the parcel, Will?’

He dropped his gaze. ‘A book.’

‘A book?’ A humourless laugh followed. ‘And what is it about, this book that demands a price for a blackmailer’s silence?’

Reaching behind him, Will curled his fingers about the cloth binding. ‘It is about love, Hannibal. And betrayal. It is about a girl who met her soulmate too late.’

‘What is this girl’s name?’

Will’s eyes flicked back to Hannibal’s. ‘Liliana.’ 

‘A pretty name,’ he murmured.

Will’s chest tightened. ‘Yes.’

But there followed nothing further. Not a hint of recognition in eyes of amber that regarded him with brooding intensity. And the sick knot of fear that had held Will in its grip for so many hours began slowly to unloose. Yet he knew that it would not dissipate entirely until there was total truth between them. Bringing out the pocket book, he held it up. ‘There are other names in this book, Hannibal.’

‘Names that I will know?’

Will nodded solemnly. ‘It does not make for easy reading.’

A muscle flickered in Hannibal’s jaw. ‘Then I suppose I had better get it over with.’ He took the pocket book from Will’s hand and lowered himself onto the bed. 

Uncertain, Will began to slide towards the opposite edge, but Hannibal’s voice, husky with emotion, stopped him. 

‘Please stay.

He swallowed, twisting his hands together in his lap. ‘I think you will not want me here after you have read that.’

‘Not want you?’ An unsteady laugh, and a hand reached out to cover both of Will’s. ‘I love you, little wolf. Even when you show me your teeth.’

It was too much, this tenderness after the long, fraught hours of separation and doubt. _My fault. Stupid, stupid_. With a sob, Will reached for Hannibal and clung to him, shivers wracking his body. He was held tightly in return, and as Hannibal began to read, Will closed his eyes and uttered a silent prayer to the gods that his world was not about to come crashing down around him.


	19. Chapter 19

‘I wish that she had.’

The deep rumble of sorrow stirred Will from his semi-recumbent position, and he lifted his head from Hannibal’s chest, pushing himself upright. ‘Had what?’

‘Sought me out.’ Hannibal’s fingers traced an unsteady path across the page. ‘As young as I was, as angry and hurt as I would undoubtedly have been, I like to think that I would have shown her another side to man. Cruelty and spite she had known from your father, love from Donald.’

‘It does not hurt you to think of them being together?’

The working of Hannibal’s throat was his only response, until at length, ‘I shall not lie and say that I feel nothing, but it was long ago and I was another person. And it is clear that your mother suffered greatly, Will.’ 

Such generosity of spirit was shaming in light of Will’s earlier doubts. Setting a hand to Hannibal’s cheek, he whispered, ‘What might you have given my mother, Hannibal?’

‘Compassion. Forgiveness.’ A sigh. ‘Or perhaps I am now idealising my younger self.’

‘No.’ Thumb stroking gently, Will shook his head. ‘That is all that you have ever shown to me.’

‘All?’

At the raising of a brow, Will admitted wryly, ‘Very well, perhaps not all. We are none of us perfect. But I have seen firsthand what happens when someone gives up the fight to be a better person: it is a poison that infects all around them.’

‘Your father?’ 

‘My father. Molson Verger. His dissolute son. Matthew Brown.’ 

‘What a collection of people.’ 

‘Yes.’ Hand falling away, Will stared down at the book. ‘It pains me that first my mother and then Margot were forced to endure such company. And even I have not been always above their manipulations.’

Closing the book, Hannibal frowned. ‘What would you have me do, Will? Wait for further instruction and pay for the favour of silence?’

The very idea turned Will’s stomach. ‘Were it only my family’s reputation at stake - but you are named as Mr Sutcliffe’s former lover, and there is now the matter of my position within your household. I would not have you tainted by association, Hannibal.’

‘Darling.’ A finger crooked beneath his chin, and warm lips pressed to his own in chaste benediction. ‘I cared little enough for society’s approval before meeting you; now, my chief and only concern is your happiness. Besides, a thirty-year-old scandal involving no living participants will be forgotten in a fortnight.’

‘I think that a highly optimistic prediction.’ But Will wound his arms around Hannibal’s neck and pressed close. ‘I had feared losing you over this.’

‘Little idiot,’ was the fond response as they held each other, fierce and tight. ‘We shall wait for the blackmailer’s next move and decide how to act - decide together, you hear me?’

‘I do,’ rubbing his cheek against Hannibal’s in mute apology. ‘And now tell me, what is happening downstairs? Is Margot yet returned?’

‘She is. Which puts me in mind of something that she said before Miss Bloom arrived.’ 

Pulling back, Will brightened. ‘Alana is here?’

‘Yes, meddler. But that is neither here nor there in the point that I am trying to make.’

‘Which is?’

‘That Margot was much troubled by her brother’s behaviour this morning. He was, apparently, taking enjoyment in his father’s distress at having mislaid a certain book.’

‘A book.’ Will looked at Hannibal blankly for a moment, then, ‘You do not think - my _mother’s_ book? But why would Molson Verger have had it? How would even he have acquired it?’

They fell to silence, Will absently stroking his fingers through the hair at Hannibal’s nape. 

‘Your father and Molson Verger were close, were not they?’ 

‘Well, yes, but -’

‘Tell me, Will, did Verger have access to your house after your father’s death?’

‘Never.’ He could hear the disgust seeping into his tone. ‘I would not have allowed him to cross the threshold had even he tried, which he did not.’

‘And before?’

‘Well, yes, but that still begs the question of why he would have ended up with my mother’s book in his possession.’

‘There is one person who might be able to provide an answer.’ 

Will’s lip curled. ‘Mason. You suspect him to be the blackmailer.’

‘I do. I also suspect Mr Brown of knowing something about this. According to Margot, he too was in on Mason Verger’s little joke this morning.’

Slumping against Hannibal, Will said with dull conviction, ‘It matters little. They are the two gentlemen in all the world least likely to cooperate with us.’ 

‘With us, yes,’ was Hannibal’s enigmatic reply. 

Before Will could enquire as to his meaning, he was enveloped in another reassuring embrace. He leaned into it, closing his eyes, allowing himself to drift, finding comfort in the familiar press of Hannibal’s body and the warm scent of his cologne. A long, slow inhale against his temple had him fighting a fit of giggles.

‘What?’ Lazily indulgent, Hannibal nuzzled his cheek.

‘Did just you smell me?’

‘I did.’ Lips feathered a path down Will’s jaw. ‘What of it? You are wonderfully fragrant.’

‘ _You_ are fragrant,’ insisted Will stoutly. ‘ _I_ am not wearing cologne.’

‘I know,’ came the wicked whisper against his lips, capturing his gasp of laughter in a hungry kiss.

And laughter died as passion stirred. Kisses lingered, deepened, grew urgent; Will straddled Hannibal’s lap, guiding his hands to unloose their breeches. ‘Please, I need - need to feel you -’

Feeding words of love into each other’s mouths, they rutted together. It was quick, hard, graceless - and entirely wonderful. When Hannibal’s fist enclosed him, thumb rubbing beneath the head of his cock, Will arched and whined. His own hands scrabbled to fasten onto Hannibal’s shoulders, creasing the fine wool of his coat. ‘F-faster.’

His head fell back and teeth scraped his throat. A high cry, then, as the delicious friction of Hannibal’s larger cock against his own tipped him over into pulsing white heat. And a surprise of wetness against his cheeks. 

‘Hush, darling.’ The tears were kissed away, hands smoothing back the hair from his hot forehead. ‘All shall be well.’

With little thought for anything but giving pleasure to the man he loved to utter distraction, Will bent to take him into his mouth, ignoring Hannibal’s protests. Floating in the blissful aftermath of his own orgasm, he sucked almost languidly, and when Hannibal cried out a hoarse warning, Will refused to pull off.

Hannibal looked down into the messy, grinning face of his boy and felt a powerful tugging at his heart. ‘You are impossible and I love you.’

‘You are welcome.’

It was necessary to kiss the smirk from Will’s lips; and as they lay twined together, Hannibal fell back into seriousness. ‘You know, there is one way in which we could ascertain very quickly Mason Verger’s involvement. We have the notes in our possession, after all, and we have also your friend.’

Will’s look of incomprehension turned rapidly to repudiation. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Will -’

‘I cannot, Hannibal. To go to Margot and ask her to identify such vile prose as belonging to her brother? I would be no sort of friend at all to expose her to such a distressing revelation.’

‘If he is, indeed, the culprit, then she will be exposed to it eventually,’ warned Hannibal. 

‘But not by me.’

In the face of such unrelenting firmness, Hannibal could do nothing but acquiesce. ‘Very well. I shall endeavour to find another way.’

Immediately, Will’s expression softened. ‘Thank you, Hannibal.’

It was almost worth the frustration of an easy avenue being denied them. But the seed of an earlier idea was already taking root.

‘Hm. Troublesome boy. And now,’ taking hold of his cravat bow and starting to pull it free of its knot, ‘we should clean ourselves up, after which I suggest we go down before Anthony organises a search party.’ 

***

Anthony had not, as it happened, organised anything more dramatic than afternoon tea. Will had taken a little persuading to return downstairs, muttering darkly about the _looks_ which they would have to endure and the _judgements_ that would no doubt have been passed in their absence. Hannibal had replied that if they waited until dinner time to show their faces, such fears were much more likely to be realised. And that had done the trick nicely. 

Their friends had not, of course, been so crass as to have cast them so much as a single salacious glance upon their entrance into the drawing room. Margot and Miss Bloom were a little quiet but appeared otherwise perfectly at ease. 

Anthony was his usual loquacious self. ‘I thought we could all take a turn about the grounds before dinner, and then cards afterwards. Faro, perhaps.’

‘An excellent idea. Miss Bloom, are you at liberty to join us for the evening? Is Lord Cley able to spare you?’

Gentle blue eyes smiled at Hannibal in gratitude. ‘As it happens, my uncle is from home these two weeks.’

‘Well, then, you must stay with us. We can send to Cley Hall for your things in the morning.’

Now _both_ ladies were favouring him with smiles. But it was Will’s approving look that Hannibal felt with the most satisfaction.

***

Anthony’s suggestion of a walk could not have been better timed. Not only because it was an afternoon made for being out of doors - one of those crisply bright days unique to early autumn, when colours appeared sharper and trees were beginning to transform the landscape into patchworks of red and gold. But also because while Will was busy playing the host to his friend and her sweet visitor, Hannibal was afforded the opportunity to lag behind with Anthony.

‘Old friend, I need your help.’

Pulling on his gloves, Anthony shot him a look of concern. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘In truth, I am not certain.’ Hands clasped behind his back, Hannibal slowed his pace again, putting more distance between them and the rest of their party. ‘And I cannot give you particulars, for it is not my place to do so.’

‘Ah, this concerns Will.’

As annoying as Anthony’s powers of perception could be, in this instance they were welcome. ‘It does. And in making my request, I would have you trust me, and know that I do not ask lightly.’

‘For the love of the gods, Hannibal, you had better tell me what you can, for I fear I am about to swoon out of sheer curiosity.’ The lightness of Anthony’s tone was belied by his serious gaze. ‘Come on, out with it, dear fellow.’

‘Very well. I need you to call on Mr Brown at the Bull.’

Up shot Anthony’s brows. ‘I would like nothing more. But was not he due to return to London with the ghastly Verger lot today?’

‘I believe so. Thus the next part of my request: if you find that they have vacated already, I want you to follow them to London and there call upon Mr Brown. He is tight with the Vergers; I have little doubt that you will find him residing with them in Grosvenor Street.’

‘One moment, Hannibal.’ Drawing to a stop, Anthony fixed him with a perplexed look. ‘You wish me to chase Mr Brown across the country? The Mr Brown whom only yesterday you wished never to hear mentioned again, and whom you were, if I remember correctly, specifically warning me off?’

‘The very same.’

An incredulous laugh followed. ‘And when I find him?’ 

Frowning, Hannibal glanced back, but Will and the ladies had turned the corner of the property and were now safely out of sight. ‘You are to engage him in conversation and then, at a time that seems appropriate, mention Miss Verger’s perplexity at her brother’s behaviour this morning with regard to a certain book.’

‘A book,’ repeated Anthony slowly. ‘What book?’

‘That is what I need you to find out. Molson Verger has apparently mislaid it; his son has, in all probability, taken it from him.’

It sounded bizarrely trivial. No wonder Anthony was now casting Hannibal rather mortifying looks of dubiousness. ‘Anything else?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes. If you can somehow contrive to persuade Mr Brown to acquire for you a sample of Mason Verger’s handwriting, I would be most grateful.’

‘I see.’ Anthony’s tone indicated just the opposite. ‘And I am to accomplish all of this in the space of one call?’

‘Oh come now, Anthony.’ Hannibal patted his shoulder. ‘Do not be overmodest. You and I both know that you are perfectly capable of being delightfully persuasive when you wish to be.’

‘Yes, but - _one call_ , Hannibal?’

Impatient to catch sight once more of Will, Hannibal started forward again. ‘Very well. If you think that the task demands a fitter setting, then find a party, get yourself invited, and take Mr Brown along with you.’

‘One wonders what kind of party you mean,’ muttered Anthony, keeping pace beside him.

At that, Hannibal threw him a derisory look. ‘Not _that_ kind of party. Although on second thought, I leave it to your discretion.’


	20. Chapter 20

‘I knew that it was a mistake to send him.’

‘Hm?’ 

Looking down into his boy’s sleepy face, Hannibal softened. ‘Never mind.’

‘No, tell me.’ Arms folded beneath his dark head, half-propped up by the sofa arm, Will met Hannibal’s gaze with one of drowsy patience.

‘Anthony.’ Hannibal sighed and passed a hand over his hair. ‘Almost two full weeks in London and still no word. What can he be doing?’

Will snorted. ‘Cannot you guess?’

‘Hmph. I suppose that I can blame only myself. Well, he will reappear or he will not.’

‘Mr Dimmond would not abandon your friendship.’

Will’s stout defence of his tutor drew a smile. ‘Thank you, darling. Your loyalty is commendable. Now forget about Anthony’s machinations and close your eyes.’

‘I should not. Margot and Alana might return from their walk at any moment.’

Granted, their current position - sprawled together on the drawing room sofa, Will’s feet resting in Hannibal’s lap, Hannibal rubbing absently at white-stockinged arches - was a trifle compromising. But it was hardly the case that they had _never_ in the last two weeks been caught in such blush-inducing circumstances - though no worse, thanks to what Will had referred to teasingly a few times as Hannibal’s _maidenly sensibilities_.

‘The Misses Verger and Bloom are far too diplomatic to just walk in; Umber will knock and announce them, giving us plenty of time in which to make ourselves respectable.’

At this, Will cocked a quizzical brow. ‘What exactly is it that you have in mind?’

Hannibal grinned, a flash of teeth, and repeated his earlier words. ‘Close your eyes.’

‘Maddening.’ But it was a fond murmur.

For a few moments, Hannibal allowed himself the indulgence of simply looking at the boy stretched out beside him, long lashes feathering cheeks tinged pink with anticipation, rosebud lips tilted upwards. They had long since dispensed with their coats, and Will with his boots, although everything was within easy reach. Hannibal’s book lay discarded on the side table beside two half-empty wine goblets: it was virtually impossible these days for him to concentrate on anything longer than a sonnet when his young lover was in the same room. 

His gaze drifted down, past the starched white neckcloth that framed a jaw still persistently smooth, much to Will’s frequent lamentations. The new blue waistcoat that Hannibal had surprised him with the previous night was, as predicted, a perfect match for his eyes; beneath the embroidered French silk, his chest rose and fell with the slightest unevenness. There was a moment of delicious tension as Hannibal placed one hand on Will’s thigh, an almost-sigh, and then a deliberate stilling.

‘Good boy.’ 

He had said it so quietly, only a slight tremor betrayed that Will had heard him at all. He suppressed a chuckle, and with the gentlest of touches proceeded with his other hand to flick open the buttons of Will’s front fall. But instead of reaching inside, he cupped his palm over the delicious mound of flesh already twitching into life, warm beneath soft buckskin. A beat, two, and he began rubbing oh, so lightly. In response, Will’s eyes cracked open, slits of vivid blue darkening rapidly.

‘Uh uh, no peeking.’

A tiny whine, and Will closed his eyes again. In reward, Hannibal bent his head to press a series of open-mouthed kisses over the clothed little cock. When he lifted up and resumed rubbing, the stiff member filled his palm nicely.

‘You are good for me,’ he crooned. ‘Staying still just as I asked.’

His own cock was stirring but he ignored it, alternating between light finger strokes and firm massaging of the head. The betraying musky scent and growing damp patch were too much to resist and, abandoning all subtlety, Hannibal coaxed out Will’s cock until it peeked pleasingly from the loosened flap. 

‘Oh, Will, you are a picture of ripe debauchery.’ On impulse, he brushed two fingers against Will’s lips, which parted immediately. ‘Make them wet, please. Mm. Lovely.’ Extracting his fingers moments later, nicely gleaming, he returned to tease the sticky red tip. ‘What a beautiful little cock. What shall I do with it, hm?’

‘Suck it and make me come. Please, Hannibal.’ It was truly the sweetest little moan. Eyes still obediently closed, Will was nevertheless now shifting restlessly. ‘As I did for you not so long ago in this very room.’

‘Quid pro quo? We have played that game before, although the circumstances were somewhat different. On your birthday, as I recall.’ Relentlessly, he stroked; and when Will attempted to thrust upwards, he pressed the boy’s hips back down. ‘Tush. If you persist in defying me, then this is as much as you will have earned.’

‘Earned?’ Will’s eyes flew open; and despite his own state of arousal, Hannibal wanted to laugh at the outraged squawk. ‘Put your mouth on me this instant or tonight I shall move back into my own bedchamber.’

How very fierce he was; how very much Hannibal loved him.

Shifting until they were eye to eye, Hannibal purred, ‘If you think that I would ever allow such a thing, little wolf, then you underestimate me greatly.’ But how could he resist his boy’s sullen pout and defiant glare? He fastened his lips onto Will’s, bold in his insistence, and quickly they were straining together, tongues thrusting in urgent mimicry of what would later surely pass between them. And in the meantime…

Hannibal broke away to bury his face in Will’s lap, nuzzling aside the material and sliding his lips down the erect little length that tasted so familiarly of his beloved. Pressing down his own erection with one hand, he caressed Will’s cock with a broad sweep of tongue, and very few minutes passed before Will cried out, bucking uncontrollably. 

Barely had Hannibal tended him with a handkerchief and refastened Will’s breeches than the boy was crawling into his lap and working to slip free his own rigid cock. At the first touch of Will’s tongue, Hannibal threw back his head, fingers clenching in his boy’s tangled curls; heat and tight suction rendered him as free of self-control as an inexperienced youth, and he came with a long groan that he could only hope would not be heard by anyone passing in the hall.

For a while afterwards, Will was content to sit straddling Hannibal’s lap, enjoying his closeness as they fed each other tender little kisses and nonsensical endearments. But as the shadows outside lengthened, he felt with a pang the moment of separation approaching. And clearly Hannibal was as aware as he that they were now stretching their luck to the point of snapping, for when Will made a reluctant move to pull away, Hannibal allowed him to return to his side of the sofa without uttering a single complaint. It was ridiculous to feel slighted by this, of course…

‘I regret that we have no time to change before dinner, but you know how strict Umber is about mealtimes.’ Hannibal climbed to his feet with a wince and reached for his coat. ‘I could do with a long soak after our exertions.’

‘Exertions?’ Pulling on his boots, Will clicked his tongue in derision. ‘Hardly. I recall many more adventurous encounters. Or is it that you are feeling your age at last?’

The moment after the words had left his lips, he wished to take them back. With a dreadful sense of inevitability, he watched as the light in Hannibal’s eyes died, replaced by an uncertainty that was so utterly _not_ Hannibal that it tore at him. Almost instantly, however, the crack in composure was covered, haughtiness falling like a veil.

‘You could be right. Perhaps tonight I should sleep alone and recover my energies. You would not mind, I hope.’

It was too late to reach for him, to pull him back down onto the sofa and issue fervent apologies and raining kisses, for already Hannibal was halfway to the door.

‘I - no, of course not.’ 

Will swallowed at the cool nod he received in response. He opened his mouth to retract his agreement, to yell an apology, to berate Hannibal for not understanding that not for a moment had he ever regarded his lover as anything other than beautiful and breathtaking and _his_. But with the opening of the door, his courage failed, and he stood in the centre of the room in an agony of self-flagellating misery. He was vaguely aware of the sound of knocking from outside, an audacious rap at the front door that was unlike Margot’s - that was, in fact, very much reminiscent of -

‘Anthony, at last! What the devil have you been about, staying away for so long?’

And just like that, into the entrance hall swept Mr Dimmond, looking a great deal pleased with himself. ‘I promise you, Hannibal, you will consider my lengthy absence a small price to have paid when you hear what I have to say.’

‘Hm. Until then, pardon me if I choose to reserve judgement.’ Still Hannibal had not returned Will’s pleading gaze. ‘Umber, take Mr Dimmond’s greatcoat and hat. We shall sit down to dinner as soon as Miss Verger and Miss Bloom have returned.’

‘We are here.’ And from the back of the house came the two ladies - walking, Will noticed with a slight lift of spirits, very close together. ‘Goodness, how extensive your grounds are, Lord Raven.’ Margot winked at Will and he smiled wanly in return. ‘It took us an age to circle the house.’ 

‘Well.’ Briskly, Hannibal indicated the dining room. ‘I suggest that we all go through and take some wine together. Umber, is the table set?’

‘Naturally, my lord.’

In the usual course, Will would have derived great amusement from the butler’s perpetual tendency to take offence. Yet the offence that _he_ had caused weighed too much on his mind for any such frivolity. Dully, he followed the others into the dining room, taking his usual seat opposite Hannibal, and waited to be ignored again. 

For the sake of Margot, they could not yet discuss the true reason for Mr Dimmond’s absence, and therefore much was made of his desire to visit the theatre, avail himself of his tailor, and enjoy the finest company that Almack’s assembly rooms could supply.

‘Fortunately, my godmother is one of the privileged few able to acquire tickets at the drop of a hat. I dined there on half a dozen occasions, and danced with all manner of squalid persons.’

‘Almack’s is not noted for the squalid nature of its patrons,’ commented Hannibal dryly. ‘Unless the Duke of Gideon has been showing his face there again.’

‘Oh, there was a whole brace of undesirables, dukes and duchesses among them,’ shuddered Mr Dimmond with a theatricality that even Will derived some enjoyment from.

It was a temporary reprieve. Braced for a cold shoulder, he was wholly unprepared for the relentlessly polite way in which Hannibal included him in the discourse. Expression distant, he _would_ ask Will’s opinion of the soup, and then the game; and he had even the effrontery to refer to _their_ trip to the theatre on Will’s birthday, discussing it with horrible detachedness, and recommending the venue for the next time Mr Dimmond or the ladies were in town. Drowning in wretchedness, Will forced himself to respond with appropriate civility to each casually tossed question or comment.

At last, the interminable meal came to an end; Margot and Alana took their customary leave, with laughing promises to refrain from eating all the sweetmeats that Umber had taken to putting out in the drawing room after dinner. When the door had closed behind them, Will turned back to the table and caught Hannibal’s eyes intent upon him. Yet in the next instant, hauteur replaced whatever emotion had been smouldering in that dark gaze.

‘Now then.’ Seemingly unaware of the tension between his hosts, Mr Dimmond swilled his port wine and grinned. ‘Do I have a tale for you two!’


	21. Chapter 21

He was not, at first, aware of what had woken him. A sound, certainly. Relatively quiet yet intrusive. Like the insistent trilling of a small bird. 

No, not a bird. This tittering was quite unmistakably human. Close to his ear and…

With a groan, Anthony rolled onto his stomach and pulled the pillow up over his head. ‘For the love of the gods, stop that abominable noise.’

A shifting about followed and an arm was slung across his waist. ‘You did not seem to mind it last night.’

‘Last night I was intoxicated. And when I am intoxicated, I can stand all manner of things, your wretched giggling included.’

‘You did your own share of giggling as I recall.’ He could hear the pout. 

Anthony turned his head and looked with amusement at the heap of crumpled linen with a head of brown hair sticking out of the top. ‘Well, you have proven yourself to be tolerably entertaining. All those impressions of Mason Verger, for instance. You have clearly spent a great deal of time in his company to know all of his quirks.’

‘I daresay.’ The sheet was drawn down, revealing dark eyes, a lowering brow, and a smirk. ‘There are some that I have not yet shown you: Mason’s tastes are rather singular.’

‘I do not care to share in _Mason’s_ tastes, thank you. I much prefer my own.’ Suppressing the unexpected stab of irritation, Anthony rubbed his thumb across Matthew’s lips. ‘You could tell me why I had to chase you halfway across the country instead of being able to call on you at your family’s home.’

‘You would have done that?’ The flash of uncertainty was surprisingly touching. 

‘Of course. Did not I make my interest clear at Cley Hall?’ Anthony grinned. ‘Before all the slapping and shouting commenced?’

‘Oh, that. Will takes things far too seriously.’

‘And you do not take things seriously enough.’ On impulse, Anthony stripped the sheet from that long, lean body and moved to cage the boy in. ‘Come, tell me. What keeps you tethered to the Vergers?’

Matthew shrugged, a clear feign of carelessness belied by resentful eyes. ‘One cannot fly free forever. Even a hawk must find a home. My dear, indifferent parents have my three older brothers all jostling for their favour - they have little time for me.’

‘Once you are finished at Oxford, you shall be able to shift for yourself.’ Anthony mouthed at a nipple. ‘In the meantime, you may stay at my house in Wimpole Street.’

‘I - what?’ 

It was rather delicious, Anthony decided, having the power to disconcert this arrogant young man. ‘To be sure, I have an ulterior motive,’ he confessed, kissing his way down a smooth torso to stop just short of the splendid cock that he had spent several hours over the past few nights spearing himself on. ‘I am duty-bound to return presently to Cambridgeshire, that I might complete my student’s education, but I shall be back for Christmas. And when I am, I would far prefer to find _you_ warming my bed rather than a bottle of hard clay.’

‘Really?’

Such a disbelieving drawl. As a pleasant distraction, Anthony curled his fingers around Matthew’s semi-erect flesh and proceeded to tease him to full hardness. ‘Truly.’

As enthusiastic as was Matthew’s now leaking cock, the boy himself still managed to sound casual as he replied, ‘Stay for another few days and I shall consider it.’

‘More skulking in your bedchamber until the Vergers are asleep from an excess of wine and dancing?’ Anthony grimaced. ‘I am too old for such games.’

‘But games are fun.’ Matthew wriggled in his grip. 

‘Now that, in my opinion, depends entirely upon who is playing.’ Sliding his fist up and down, Anthony asked in as casual a manner as the situation allowed, ‘Take Mason. I hear from his sister that his idea of a game is to torment his father in as many ways as he can devise. The latest involving, of all things, a book that he had stolen from Molson.’

Matthew groaned. ‘Faster.’

Recognising that the time for conversation was now past, Anthony abandoned his questioning and, to ease his own growing arousal, put _both_ of his fists to good use.

***

‘Why are you being so vague?’ Clicking his tongue, Will leaned across the table. ‘You say that you managed to prise Mr Brown away from the Vergers, and he alluded to Mason’s games. What of the book? Was he forthcoming about that? Or would he not, in the end, cooperate?’

‘Oh, he was fully cooperative - even enthusiastic.’

Why Mr Dimmond should be struggling not to smile, Will could not fathom, but he was certain that it was the case. He glanced aside at Hannibal, who met his eyes for the briefest of moments before returning his attention to their friend.

‘Come, Anthony. I appreciate that I may have overstepped the bounds of our relationship by asking you to sing for your supper, but the suspense of the last fortnight has surely been punishment enough for my impertinence.’

At this, Mr Dimmond sobered a little. ‘Punishment has been the furthest thing from my mind these two weeks, Hannibal, I assure you. But very well. Here is what I know.’ 

***

‘Am I understanding you correctly?’ Anthony stared, heart sinking, at the nonchalant boy devouring his toast as if he had not just admitted to aiding and abetting a thief. ‘Mason Verger _stole_ the late Lady Wolf’s diary in order to commit blackmail - and you went along with it?’

‘Will made it perfectly clear to me the last time we met that our friendship was at an end.’ There was, at least, a scrap of feeling running beneath these words. With vigour, Matthew began spreading butter on a new piece of toast. ‘Besides, according to Mason, his father was the original thief - he was stupidly in love with Lord Wolf’s wife, and when she died he seized on the opportunity to help his _friend_ sort through her personal possessions.’

‘With a view to pilfering for himself? How vile.’ It was, Anthony supposed, too early for wine. 

‘Oh, worse than that was to come.’ Matthew lowered his voice, although given that it was still only nine o’clock and the Vergers customarily stayed abed until nearer to noon, Anthony could only surmise that it was for dramatic effect. ‘Mason told me that Molson was always encouraging Beaumont Graham to support this scheme or that. Almost as if he wanted to push his dear friend into ruination.’ 

‘Dear gods.’ Almost as appalling as this news was Matthew’s delivery of it. ‘Do not you care at all?’

‘Oh lord. You are reverting to type.’ The boy rolled his eyes. ‘Why should I care?’ Tearing off a corner of toast, he set to chewing lustily. ‘I owe these people no loyalty. Particularly as it appears that old Mr Verger has been scheming with my own dear papa to match me with Margot Verger of all people.’ He laughed, and it was a hollow sound. ‘Mason was not about to allow that to happen.’

‘Because he wants you for himself.’ Anthony bristled at the thought.

‘Of course he does.’ That smirk really was horribly attractive.

Something still did not add up. ‘How would blackmailing Will help Mason to secure you for his spouse?’

Matthew shook a finger at Anthony in mock chastisement. ‘Not Will - Lord Raven. Everyone knows that Lecter is stupidly protective of his ward. And he is also as rich as Croesus.’ 

Anthony stared at him. ‘Mason Verger must be mad.’

‘I would say quite possibly yes.’ Matthew licked a drop of butter from his lower lip, and despite everything that he had heard, Anthony felt desire curl in the pit of his stomach. ‘His grand plan was to extort enough money from Lord Raven to allow him to travel to the continent and there live comfortably, safe from his father’s influence.’

‘Live comfortably with _you_ , presumably.’

‘Of course.’

It was enough. Quite enough. But before leaving could be an option, Anthony had one final task to perform. He reached to cup Matthew’s cheek. ‘Matty, I need your help.’

***

_I have, of course, made copies of the more… exciting entries._

Will stared at the sheaf of papers laid out on the table. ‘You - you got them back.’

‘Mr Brown got them back,’ corrected Mr Dimmond quietly. ‘He had watched Mason Verger stow them beneath his mattress - retrieving them was a simple enough business.’

Thus far, Hannibal had been ominously quiet. So much so that, when suddenly he stood and grasped the papers in his clenched fist, Will started a little. 

‘There is only one place for which these are fit.’ Grimly, Hannibal stalked from the room.

‘I had better go after him.’ Apology in his eyes, Will pushed back his chair and rose. ‘Mr Dimmond, I - _we_ \- owe you a great debt for this.’

‘Not so great, my dear boy. It was a simple enough job to practise a little persuasion in the right places.’ And he lifted his glass in salute.

Anthony’s words were all very well; the bleakness behind them was not. But Will was all too aware that Hannibal was off somewhere in a tearing rage, and his overwhelming instinct was to find and placate him as soon as may be. 

‘Thank you, Anthony,’ he said softly. At the use of his given name, Anthony looked first startled then  
pleased, and they exchanged smiles of understanding before Will hastily took his leave.

***

‘In here, Will.’

At the click of the library door, Hannibal did not move but continued to gaze into the fire, watching the lick and swirl of flames, the curl and twist of parchment. Only when every last scrap was ash would he be satisfied. And even then…

‘I ought to call him out,’ he snarled. ‘Take a pistol to the scoundrel.’

‘Mason?’ A soothing hand landed on his back. ‘Duelling is not the answer. There are means of influence other than violence, as I suspect Mr Dimmond has come to realise.’

‘I hope that you do not expect me to use on Mason Verger the means which I suspect Anthony has employed with the charming Mr Brown.’ Morose humour was, he supposed, better than none.

Will certainly seemed to think so, for he drew level to the fireplace, laid his cheek on Hannibal’s shoulder with every appearance of possessiveness, and replied pertly, ‘Only if you wish to lose the use of a certain vital part of your anatomy.’

‘Hmph. Then what do you suggest?’

‘That we wait. Hope that Mason gives up and retreats to Oxford to lick his wounds. He has now no longer any actual evidence of impropriety between my mother and Mr Sutcliffe. And if he wants Mr Brown, well, perhaps we should allow him free rein to chase him. It would set Margot free.’

‘You are quite the matchmaker.’ Hannibal’s lips quirked reluctantly and he turned at last, gathering Will into his arms, unable to remain distant any longer. His boy went willingly, soft and pliant, tender in his reassurance.

‘I am sorry that I upset you earlier.’

Hannibal huffed a sigh into Will’s hair. ‘I was, perhaps, being a little overly sensitive.’

‘Because you know that I love you to distraction. Nothing will ever change that.’ Will tipped his face up to Hannibal’s, and the fierce affection that he read therein stopped his breath.

‘Will,’ he murmured. ‘How I ache for you, every moment that you are not in my sight.’ 

He crushed their lips together, enthralled as always by Will’s eager responsiveness, losing himself in the sweetness of the moment, in the press of their bodies which curved together in a natural fit. Will’s tongue traced the seam of his lips in tentative suggestion, and Hannibal opened to him, allowing himself to be claimed even as he returned each increasingly bold stroke. When he sucked on Will’s tongue tip, the resulting whimper stoked his arousal to an uncomfortable degree, and he was forced to break off, setting his forehead to Will’s and closing his eyes in a shuddering bid for control.

Delicate fingers kneaded his coat lapels. ‘I suppose that we should return to our guests and make an effort to be sociable.’ A note of seductiveness crept into Will’s voice as he added, ‘At least for the next hour. After that, Lord Raven, I claim the right to take you into my bed and have my way with you. I trust that this meets with your approval.’

‘Oh, very much so, Lord Wolf,’ said Hannibal huskily. ‘In fact, I absolutely insist.’


	22. Chapter 22

One evening in mid-October, Will returned from a late ride to find Anthony sketching in the drawing room, and Hannibal locked away in his study, apparently with Wells. 

‘Goodness knows what they are doing: it is all hushed whispers and paper rustling.’

‘And presumably you would know this because you had your ear pressed up against the door,’ commented Will dryly. ‘Honestly, Anthony!’

‘There was little of honesty involved,’ admitted his sheepish friend. ‘But damn it all, I do so hate an unsolved mystery.’

‘I doubt that there is any _mystery_ to be solved. Hannibal and I are leaving for Italy in January, after all, and Wells will be left with the supervision of this estate as well as the London house. That is no small task.’ Fleetingly, Will’s thoughts turned to Wolf Hall. If Wells had, at last, found a buyer… Briskly, he shook himself out of mournful imaginings that were of no use to anybody. ‘What are you drawing?’ 

Much to Will’s intrigue, Anthony blushed. ‘Nothing of note - just some portraiture. I am horribly out of practice.’

Moving swiftly, Will swept up the pad and, not entirely to his surprise (although despite his long-held suspicions, the sight was still a little disturbing), set eyes on a very decent facsimile of Mr Brown. ‘Oh, Anthony,’ he murmured, for the capturing of that lurking softness which once he also had sensed, buried beneath layers of self-protective shallowness, indicated all too clearly the depth of Anthony’s feelings for the subject. ‘You have fallen for him.’

‘What utter rot,’ retorted Anthony, snatching the pad back again and cradling it almost protectively. ‘I declare your imagination quite carries you away sometimes.’

‘Now, Will, are you needling Anthony?’ Into the drawing room strode Hannibal, Wells following. There was an almost humming energy in Hannibal’s steps, and an intensity of gaze that sparked in Will a strangely nervous excitement.

‘No more than usual,’ scoffed Anthony. ‘Morning, Wells.’

‘Good morning, Mr Dimmond, Lord Wolf.’ Ever respectful, Wells bowed to them both. And then, turning to Hannibal, ‘I shall get on, then, my lord. There is much to be arranged.’

‘Very good. And Wells,’ said Hannibal, holding out his hand for a firm shake, ‘very well done.’

‘Well, now.’ The moment the steward had departed, Anthony was on his feet. ‘What, may I ask, was that all about?’

‘You may ask,’ replied Hannibal crisply, ‘but you will not receive a reply until I have first spoken to Will. Would you mind excusing us?’

‘Hannibal!’ Tutting, Will crossed the room to tug on his hand. ‘You are not throwing Anthony out of a perfectly comfortable room in order to have a conversation with me. Come, we can take a turn about the grounds. It is a beautiful evening.’ 

‘Yes, I can see that you have been enjoying it.’ Reaching up, Hannibal plucked something from Will’s hair. ‘Are leaves the new fashion?’

Hannibal’s amused gaze caused Will to redden, and he raised his free hand to check for additional flora. ‘Nola wished to gallop, and so I suppose I am a little windswept.’

‘You are indeed,’ said Hannibal, bending to whisper in Will’s ear, ‘and rather adorably so.’

Hardly able to credit this uncharacteristic public show - not to mention Hannibal’s apparent lack of concern over so much hand-holding - Will fairly dragged his lover from the room, trying his best to ignore Anthony’s hearty chuckles as he did so. 

***

Greatcoats buttoned, gloves and hats donned, they ventured out into a vista of autumnal splendour, the turning trees vivid splashes of red and gold in the landscape. Against a fading sky flamed tall elms and spreading oaks, the nearer formal gardens more modest in their show yet still providing bold pockets of colour in upturned Helianthus and cheerful Michaelmas daisies. 

‘Let us walk the avenue.’ Will reclaimed Hannibal’s hand, enjoying the firm returning press of fingers around his. ‘There is time yet before dark. And then you can tell me what has put you in such an affectionate mood.’

‘Am not I usually affectionate?’ 

‘Well now.’ Will made a pretence of serious consideration. ‘When first we met, I thought you a great scowling fellow.’

‘Hmph. I thought _you_ an imp of a child, sent to vex me.’

Delighted, Will countered, ‘Come now, do not pretend that you did not also find me fascinating. There was rarely a time when we were together that I did not feel your eyes on me.’

‘What a letch you make me sound.’ Hannibal blanched. 

‘No, you are simply _not_ allowed to bring up the difference in our ages again.’ Will squeezed Hannibal’s hand in warning.

‘As if I would dare!’ A smile softened sculpted lips. ‘I merely wish it to be known that it was your liveliness of mind that first captured me.’

‘Really?’ 

Will’s scoffing prompted a rather undignified scuffle that ended with Hannibal tugging him behind the moss-studded trunk of a lime. Several kisses later, they emerged a little less immaculate and slightly breathless to continue their walk. After a time, Hannibal began again to speak.

‘I should like to talk with you seriously now, and I fear that much of what I have to say will not please you. In fact, I fully expect you to be shocked by some of it.’

Will slipped his arm through Hannibal’s; and although his heart thudded rapidly at his lover’s words, he endeavoured to keep his voice steady. ‘You may consider me forewarned. Now stop being so protective and _tell_ me.’

‘Very well. You may recall that on that first day, I had assumed, mistakenly, that I would be dealing with your brother. I believe that I told you as much at the time.’

‘You did - in as high-handed a manner as I had ever encountered.’

‘Will, stop teasing. This is not the time.’ The gravity of Hannibal’s tone was sufficient subdual. 

‘I forgot myself. Go on.’ Will half-expected a pause and some sort of loving gesture: when it did not come, he felt for the first time a flicker of fear. ‘Hannibal, please.’

Hannibal covered Will’s hand with his own as they continued walking. ‘Here is the crux of it, Will, even though you may not wish to forgive me for having withheld the truth from you for so many months. Goodness knows I had my reasons, but I cannot put it off any longer. I must tell you all of it and risk your anger.’ He sighed harshly. ‘After your father’s death, I met with my lawyer, who informed me that the estate which Lord Wolf had gambled away in an apparently unconscionable act of folly was, in fact, already bankrupt.’

‘What?’ It was an outrageous charge. It was - entirely, horribly plausible. The neglect of the house and the tenant farms, the lack of funds for repairs - all of which Will had put down to his father’s carelessness - suddenly made terrible sense. Beaumont’s gambling had gone unchecked for years. Of _course_ there would have been a high price to pay. ‘You mean that when my father offered the estate as security he was, in effect, offering you nothing.’

‘In effect.’

‘Wait.’ Staying Hannibal, Will looked at him in reeling confusion. ‘My trust. How did that escape the bankruptcy?’ 

‘Will.’ Hannibal touched a cheek now cold and pale. How hateful it was to be the cause. But he had delayed this conversation for far too long already. ‘Oh, Will. It did not.’

‘No, wait. That - that cannot be.’ Hannibal felt Will’s bewilderment like a punch to the stomach. ‘Our family solicitor, Mr Brauer, assured me that the trust was secure. He even spoke to me about the inadvisability of contesting the bet!’

Looking into desperate eyes as turbulently grey as they had been on that first, crisp day in April, Hannibal swallowed. ‘He told you those things because I asked him to. I wished to deliver the news in person, feeling that it was the least I could do in the circumstances.’

‘That was a kind thought,’ muttered Will, looking conflicted nonetheless.

‘Hardly. I resented the time that I was giving up in making the journey myself.’ 

‘You did not deliver the news, though, did you?’ Will stepped back and Hannibal’s hands fell away.

‘No. When I realised that I was dealing not with a man of independent means in a secure profession, but with a boy who had precisely no one and nothing to fall back on, I - reevaluated.’

‘You lied.’

Hannibal lifted his chin at the flat accusation. ‘I adapted.’

‘Because you felt sorry for me?’ 

‘Because I could not countenance the idea of seeing you destitute.’

‘How very noble of you,’ spat Will. He spread his hands. ‘Am I to be grateful now? That you took pity on the poor orphan boy and fed him fairy tales to keep him compliant?’

‘You flatter me.’ Voice hardening, Hannibal closed the space between them. ‘I am no philanthropist, Will. The truth of the matter is that you bewitched me from the first, and I wanted you. In what way I wanted you, I did not stop to consider.’ Eyes half-closed, he ran one gloved finger down that icy cheek. ‘I knew only that I would not be satisfied to return to London without you.’

Will averted his face, and with reluctance Hannibal allowed him the snub. As a clutch for power, it was little enough. 

‘Why, after waiting a full six months, have you decided to tell me all of this now?’

Here. Here was the moment that he hoped would soften the impact of what had come before.

‘Because before we leave for the continent, I thought that you might like to return to Wolf Hall and inspect the work that Wells and his men have been doing.’

‘On demolition?’ asked Will sourly.

‘Now, Will,’ chided Hannibal. ‘You surely do not think me so callous.’

‘No.’ The evident unwillingness of this confession was almost enough to make Hannibal smile. Turning, Will eyed him cautiously. ‘Do you mean to tell me that you have not, after all, sold Wolf Hall?’

‘Just so. And my decision had nothing to do with pity,’ he added firmly. ‘Trying to sell a crumbling, bankrupt estate would hardly have been in my best financial interest.’

‘Of course not.’ To Hannibal’s horror, he perceived tears glistening before Will turned his back on him. 

‘Will, please.’ Risking the agony of rejection was better than standing by and watching his beloved cry. Swiftly, Hannibal moved to wrap his arms around Will’s shaking shoulders; and to his utter relief, Will twisted to bury his wet face against Hannibal’s chest. ‘Oh, my love, I am sorry. Please, I cannot bear it.’ 

Tenderly he embraced his boy, kissing the top of his head, his temple, his damp cheek; then, nudging his face upwards, taking his mouth in a fierce claim. Will’s reciprocation was fervent, the breaths that they shared both calming and arousing.

‘You do not blame me?’ murmured Hannibal, nuzzling into fragrant curls. 

Will laughed shakily. ‘For saving my family’s legacy or for taking me in when I gave you little enough inducement to do so?’

‘Perhaps for concealing the truth all this time?’

‘Lord Raven,’ caressing Hannibal’s face with a lightness of touch that sent through him a pleasurable shiver, ‘I have ever known you to be incapable of relinquishing control. How can I blame you for being so utterly yourself?’

‘Ah, little wolf.’ With a rumble of laughter, Hannibal set his forehead to Will’s. ‘How charmingly you phrase your slanders.’

***

The storm over, they walked arm in arm to the end of the avenue and back again, returning to a house now lit against the encroaching sunset only to find another surprise awaiting them within.

‘Ah, Lord Raven.’ In as close a state to perturbation as Hannibal had ever seen him, Umber came hurrying towards them in the entrance hall. ‘I must apologise, but it seems that a - _person_ \- has managed to gain entry to the house by duplicitous means, and is now in the drawing room, refusing to leave.’

‘Duplicitous means?’ Hannibal raised his eyebrows. 

‘By the servants’ entrance, I believe.’ From the grimness of Umber’s tone, Hannibal suspected that more than one of said servants had been - or would shortly be - severely chastised for allowing such an infraction. 

‘Very well. Thank you for alerting me, Umber. Lord Wolf, would you care to accompany me in confronting this rascal, whoever they might be?’

‘By all means.’ Will nodded towards the closed drawing room door, through which could be discerned raised voices. ‘Although, from the sound of things, Mr Dimmond has the situation well in hand.’

More so even than they could have suspected: for, as Hannibal pushed open the door, he was astounded to see Anthony being pressed up against the mantlepiece. And in his arms - although _almost climbing him_ might have been a more accurate description - was that rogue of a boy, Matthew Brown. 

‘What the devil is going on?’ he thundered. ‘Mr Brown, Mr Dimmond, take hold of yourselves this instant!’

The pair disengaged, swollen-mouthed and dishevelled, panting heavily. It was clear that whatever tussle they had been engaging in had been of some duration. 

‘Perhaps we should, um, withdraw to the library and have the gentlemen join us there shortly,’ suggested Will with admirable tact.

‘Yes, perhaps.’ Glaring at the miscreant pair, Hannibal indicated for Will to precede him into the entrance hall. ‘Do not keep us waiting long,’ he warned; and without further ado, he followed Will out and shut the door behind them with a resounding thud.

***

Had it not been for Will’s soothing presence, Hannibal was certain that he would have erupted the moment Anthony and Mr Brown had entered the library. Despite his stern words upon leaving them, it was a full ten minutes before their footsteps could be heard crossing the marble floor.

‘Do you think it possible that they are lost?’ he had grumbled at one point.

‘In each other, perhaps.’ Will had met his eyes, entreating. ‘We know how that feels, do not we?’

‘But the idea of Anthony with that - that -’

‘We can none of us choose whom we love.’

And with that soft reminder, Hannibal had done his best to be content.

Will looked on in trepidation as Hannibal, arms folded, greeted the pair.

‘Good of you to deign to join us.’ 

It could, supposed Will, have been worse. And Anthony, at least, looked apologetic; Matthew Brown merely smirked. 

‘Things got somewhat, er, hectic, in there for a moment. Not for the world would I have offended either of you.’ 

Poor Anthony was not at all his customary, nonchalant self, as he stood before them straightening and re-straightening his cuffs in the most awkward manner. 

Taking pity on him, Will switched his attention to the boy he had once considered a friend, until Mason Verger had hooked his claws and poison deep. ‘Have you just arrived from London, Mr Brown? I daresay you are quite fatigued.’

The smirk wavered. ‘Why, I - yes, a little.’

Hannibal looked unimpressed, but Anthony positively radiated gratitude. ‘Perhaps, if Lord Raven does not object, Mr Brown could use my chamber to refresh himself.’

‘I hardly think -’

‘What a splendid idea.’ Will darted a pleading glance at Hannibal. ‘Or perhaps Umber could arrange for a spare bedchamber to be prepared for our guest.’

‘Our _what_?’ It took another long, imploring look until, finally, ‘Oh, very well.’

‘And then we can discuss matters in the morning, when we are all refreshed.’

‘Fine.’

Ignoring Hannibal’s snappishness, Will hurried to the doorway and summoned Umber, who proved to be just as taken aback by the turn of events as his master, managing only strangled sounds of assent as Will issued his instructions.

***

‘The point being,’ explained Will patiently, as he lay propped on his elbow beside Hannibal in their bed several hours later, ‘that I believe it very likely that Anthony will soon propose marriage to Matty, which will in turn free Margot for Alana. Do not you see?’

‘I see that you have relapsed into appalling informality with the boy. And that you have allowed your imagination to carry you away quite wildly. Why, we have seen the two of them together only for a few hours.’ 

How Hannibal managed to look so stern while reclining in naked magnificence, Will did not know. Nor did he care. Insinuating a hand between them, he began a slow stroking up and down his lover’s side.

‘True, but Anthony has not been the same since returning from London. There has been much sighing and gazing out of windows -’

‘- which can be put down to simple boredom -’

‘- and sketching of Mr Brown,’ added Will triumphantly. ‘In any case, even without all of that, I know what two people in love look like. As do you!’

Hannibal appearing to be no more mollified, Will decided that a little extra sweetening would do no harm. The stroking hand wandered across to cup and rub gently at a cock which was hardening rapidly despite its owner’s seeming diffidence. 

‘You must not mind my addressing Mr Brown in the old way on occasion, now that he is to be practically family.’ 

‘For the love of the gods, Will.’ 

Hannibal’s groan was, Will hoped, more a sign of his burgeoning arousal than irritation. To ensure the former, he began scattering kisses across that wonderfully hair-roughened chest, licking the protruding nipples in a way that never failed to produce a deep flush over soft skin. And all the while, his hand worked busily away. When soon afterwards he felt betraying stickiness, he smiled in triumph and levered himself upright to straddle Hannibal’s cock and work himself down onto it.

‘Will, no. What are you -’ The agonised moan was cut short, seeking fingers no doubt encountering the oil which Will had applied liberally when preparing himself in his own chamber. ‘You wretch! Was this your plan all along? To trap me into acquiescence with this exquisite body of yours?’

‘Why?’ panted Will, impaling himself fully, mouth going slack with pleasure. ‘Is it working?’

It certainly seemed so, particularly when, moments later, Hannibal rolled them, pinning Will’s hands above his head and thrusting into him, hard and deep, until both of them were crying out frantically. And then again after an explosive shared climax, when they lay pressed together and kissed and kissed, slow and languorous.

Perhaps he should have felt at least a little guilt over using such base tactics to soothe and distract his lover; but when all was said and done, thought Will, drifting in a blissful state of satiation, there was no one who did not benefit. 

***

‘Will.’

‘Mm.’

‘Will, wake up.’

‘What - what is it?’ Confused and slightly alarmed by the urgency in Hannibal’s voice, Will struggled to open sleep-crusted eyes. ‘Has something happened?’ He rubbed the back of his hand across his nose and yawned.

‘I am afraid so.’ 

He blinked up at the ceiling, sunlight-patterned, and then glanced around to find Hannibal kneeling by the bed, fully dressed.

‘Have you lost something?’ 

‘I have.’ The next moment, his hand was grasped, and Hannibal was regarding him with the strangest expression. 

‘What?’ 

‘Possibly my senses,’ came the unexpectedly dry response, followed swiftly by the infinitely more romantic, ‘but definitely my heart.’

‘Hannibal.’ A gurgle of laughter escaped Will, for upon further inspection he noted that in Hannibal’s other hand was clutched a wooden jewellery box, palm-sized, and it was with vast affection that he noted, ‘This is all very theatrical. What is it in aid of?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You have not, I hope, chased away Mr Brown, and are now attempting to bribe me into good humour with a gift.’

‘Heavens forfend.’ But Hannibal’s smile seemed now a trifle forced. 

‘Hannibal, tell me that you have not!’ Will struggled to sit up, difficult given the determined way in which Hannibal clung still to his hand. He managed it, however, and bestowed upon his lover a severe look.

‘No, I have not.’ This reply was given through gritted teeth.

Judging the mood to be well and truly broken, Will slipped free, swept up his crumpled breeches and started for the door. ‘Good. In that case, I shall go and dress in my chamber. Your bauble can wait.’

He fancied that he had left behind a rather stunned suitor, and so was caught entirely unawares when, at the door, he was swept up into powerful arms and dropped straight back onto the bed.

‘Hannibal, have you taken leave of your senses?’ 

‘Yes.’ The word was practically shouted. A hand raked through untidy ash hair, as if the action had been repeated more than once already. ‘I suppose that I have. I am certainly making a confounded hash of - ah, never mind. Impulsiveness is clearly its own punishment.’ Almost sulkily, Hannibal sank down onto the bed beside him and cast aside the box. ‘Go and get dressed if you like.’

How irresistible he was, pouting and flustered. How unlike the coolly courteous facade which he presented to the world. Thoroughly entranced, Will clambered into Hannibal’s lap. As naked as he was, he felt not a moment’s self-consciousness, for here he knew he belonged and was wanted. _Loved_. He slid his arms around Hannibal’s neck. 

‘I think not, for now you have truly piqued my curiosity. Tell me, Hannibal,’ he cooed with outrageous flirtatiousness, ‘what is in the box?’

‘What a minx you are,’ growled Hannibal, but he wrapped his arms around Will with an eagerness that swelled Will’s heart. ‘If you must know, it is something that I have wished for some time to give you. I was only waiting for the right occasion.’

‘And that would be now?’

‘Apparently.’ Eyes sparking dangerously, Hannibal indicated the abandoned box. ‘I think you had better open it before I change my mind.’

Smug in the certainty that such a thing could never happen, Will reached for the box and then snuggled back into Hannibal’s arms. He sat back a little to open the catch, and was startled once again into laughter when within the outer box he encountered a second, smaller one. This, too, he opened to find a third, and he shook his head in bemused entertainment. 

‘Allow me to guess. If I keep going, I will eventually find a pea or a pebble or -’ His voice faded to a whisper as the third lid snapped up, revealing a black velvet lining and, nestled inside a carefully-cut slot, ‘a ring.’

And what a thing of beauty it was: a thin band of gold holding a large, faceted stone of yellow, bordered by small cut diamonds. 

‘The central stone is a citrine,’ said Hannibal, smiling, touchingly tentative. ‘Its spiritual meaning is the bringing of joy, and that is something that you have given me in abundance.’

‘It is exquisite,’ breathed Will, holding up the ring to watch the dance of light across its angled surfaces.

‘And, by happy coincidence, your favourite colour.’ 

Will looked up, uncertain. ‘You did not buy this?’

‘No, Will.’ Ardent eyes held him in thrall. ‘This was my mother’s wedding ring.’

It was then, as Hannibal reached into the box, that Will fell to uncontrollable trembling. In awed silence, he watched as Hannibal took gentle hold of his left hand and bent his head to bestow upon the fourth finger a kiss. The look of utter devotion in his eyes as he looked up again was Will’s undoing. Tears rolled, unchecked, down his cheeks, and he choked back sobs lest the servants should imagine that something terrible was taking place behind the closed door.

‘I should have offered this to you months ago,' said Hannibal huskily. 'I wanted to. Yet I feared my own selfishness. Who was I, to trap you in a union that could offer you, at best, thirty good years?’ 

‘Hannibal, no.’ Heart clenching, Will cupped Hannibal’s cheek, thumb stroking tenderly. ‘My youthfulness does not guarantee me a life any longer than yours. We none of us know what the future holds, but one thing I do know - and that is that you are the _love_ of my life. A life that, without you, would be empty, devoid of joy. And who would choose to live thus? Please, please do not make me.’

Amber eyes crinkled in a wry smile. ‘Was my schoolboy behaviour this morning not enough to convince you that I had already changed my mind? Not to mention the ring that I practically threw at you?’ 

His mother, he knew, would have been appalled, although he did not for a moment doubt that she would have adored Will at first sight. Just as he had. Just as he would, until his last breath.

‘Now that you mention it, that was rather rude of you, Lord Raven.’ Against Hannibal’s lips was murmured a plea. ‘To make amends, I think that you should ask me properly now.’

‘Will. Little wolf. Darling.’ Hannibal punctuated the words with soft kisses. ‘How I love you. Please forgive my clumsiness. Say that you will be mine.’ And, in a whisper, ‘Marry me.’

It would have been fair to say that the tears mingling on their cheeks as Will, nodding frantically, allowed Hannibal to slide the ring onto his finger, could have belonged to either of them.


	23. Epilogue

‘The most enjoyable part of being married,’ said Hannibal, one cold December morning, ‘is that we may lie abed for half a day together and no one raises as much as an eyebrow.’

‘ _That_ is what you find the most enjoyable?’ Will scoffed, reaching across to the dresser for his engagement ring. However much he hated removing it, it had more than once proven rather cumbersome - not to say downright dangerous - when worn in their bed. He slid it onto his finger so that it nestled once more beside the plain band which mirrored Hannibal’s own. Holding his hand aloft, he admired the glinting of light across the multi-faceted yellow stone. ‘How very base of you, my lord.’

‘Come back here, you vain little thing.’ Hannibal tugged at him lazily, and gladly Will wriggled into his previous position, tucked into Hannibal’s side. ‘Impertinent, too.’ 

Will shrugged, entirely unconcerned. ‘Of course. And do not pretend that it bothers you.’

‘Certainly I am used to it by now. This wicked tongue of yours,’ as Hannibal brushed his lips across Will’s, ‘shall, I fear, never be tamed.’ 

Will opened his mouth on a moan to allow his husband access, enjoying the greedy licking that stopped the conversation for several long moments.

‘You do not fear it.’ Will grazed his teeth along a jaw roughened deliciously by stubble. ‘You delight in it.’

‘Hah. _You_ delight; I tolerate.’

‘Nonsense. How you do relish manipulating the truth.’

‘Perhaps I should show you what I _most_ relish manipulating, little wolf.’

The scuffle that followed necessitated once again the removal of the ring; and although Will complained that he had been able to keep it on his finger for only a few minutes together since their retiring the night before, he was giggling as he did so.

***

The following day being Christmas Eve, they awoke to a fever of frantic activity which resonated all through the house and made staying in bed an impossibility.

‘Is it likely, do you think, that they will be making that much noise for the entirety of the day?’

Will looked archly across at Hannibal, whose cravat was in the process of being tied with deft skill by Dolarhyde. He shrugged into the coat that Peter held open for him, noticing with amusement that the two valets appeared to have decided that their masters should coordinate on this special occasion: his own ensemble a flattering blend of russet and faun, while Hannibal was striking in maroon and ivory.

‘You wanted this party, remember? And as everyone is making a great effort to come, I think it only right that a fuss should be made.’

‘Hmph.’ Hannibal straightened an already perfectly straight cuff. ‘I believe it was _you_ , my darling, who protested that the Verger-Blooms had been denied a proper celebration, and pointed out that a party at Christmas would be just the thing to right the situation without damaging their rapprochement with Frederick.’

Secretly thrilled by the freedom with which Hannibal now dropped his endearments, Will commented, ‘It is encouraging that he has asked them to reside with him at Cley Hall after their bridal tour. It must almost make up for Mr Verger’s retreat to Derbyshire the day before their wedding.’

‘Perhaps, although I cannot imagine that they will take Frederick up on the offer. Being only the country's _second_ worst parent is hardly a title worthy of boast.’

‘Are not you forgetting Lord Shriver?’ Will shuddered. ‘He was evidently so abysmal a father, Miss Hobbs took it into her head to abscond with the family silver.’

They continued conversing in lively tones on their way down to breakfast, where they found Anthony tucking into warm rolls and preserves.

‘Well now, what a pleasant surprise,’ he exclaimed, hastily catching a fat droplet of strawberry jam before it besmeared the spotless tablecloth. ‘Company for breakfast.’

‘Thank you, Anthony,’ said Hannibal with dry emphasis. ‘I do not believe that we have missed more than two meals this week.’

‘Really? Try five.’

This was a number worthy of a great deal of blushing, at least in Will’s opinion. Hannibal was his usual unruffled self, pouring two cups of hot chocolate from the silver service laid out on the sideboard.

‘Anthony, I am so sorry,’ said Will, slipping into his usual seat and shaking out a napkin. ‘How appallingly ill-mannered we have been.’

‘Well, you are but a month married,’ allowed their generous friend. ‘Besides, I have not been left entirely alone.’

‘Ah yes. And how is the ubiquitous Mr Brown?’ asked Hannibal in scathing tones, as he carried the drinks across to the table and sat down opposite Will. ‘Has he moved in here yet?’

Will aimed a kick at his husband, which much to his annoyance was deftly avoided. ‘You know very well that he is at Anthony’s London townhouse,' he reproved. 'I hope, Anthony, that he received my invitation.’

‘He did, thank you, Will, and was most appreciative. As was I. He shall be arriving on the afternoon coach.’

‘What is this?’ snapped Hannibal, and this time Will’s boot toe found its mark.

‘I heard from Margot that her brother has taken his expulsion from Oxford rather hard,’ he said, ignoring Hannibal’s continued glowering. ‘In the spring, he is to accompany their father on an extended stay abroad - Paris, I believe.’

‘I am only glad that we shall by then have moved on to Italy,’ pronounced Hannibal, having given up his protests about Matthew Brown in favour of slicing the honey cake with precise and emphatic strokes. 

‘Ah, yes. A month in Florence. How very romantic of you, Hannibal,’ said Anthony with a wink.

‘Hannibal wishes to show me the antiquities of the Uffizi and the Duomo.’ Will sounded touchingly excited as he talked of the plans they had made. ‘And then we go on to Venice, and from thence to Germany.’

‘How long is this tour to last?’

‘Six months.’

Anthony’s nod was all approval. ‘And what of Nola? Should you like me to exercise her for you while you are gone?’

‘That is kind, but the Crawfords are taking her.’ Will’s voice was a trifle wistful as he explained, ‘They shall be returning to Derbyshire after their Christmas stay with us, and we thought it best that Nola should be stabled with them until the summer.’

‘Do not fret, Anthony. Come June, I shall bring Will back.’ With a swelling heart, Hannibal gazed at his boy, noting with approval blue eyes clear of shadows. Much was he willing to do to ensure that they remained so. ‘We shall stop over in London for a few weeks to catch up with our friends, and then travel up to Wolf Hall.’

‘We thought Derbyshire in the summer, Cambrideshire for Christmas, and London for the Season.’ Tearing a hefty chunk out of a bread roll and seizing the marmalade, Will grinned. ‘How does that sound, Anthony?’

‘Busy,’ chuckled Anthony. ‘And rather marvellous.’

***

Marvellous, decided Hannibal a little over three hours later, was walking across frost-crisped lawn, gloved hand in hand with his young husband, away from party preparations and a palpably nervous Anthony.

‘What the devil was the matter with him this last hour?’ he grumbled. ‘Staring out into the hallway every time someone walked through it; stumbling over his words when finally he deigned to answer a question; why, I caught a glimpse of his book as we left and I swear it was upside down.’

‘I believe he is planning to propose.’

The calm manner in which Will dropped this news did nothing to lessen Hannibal’s outrage, and he stopped dead. ‘He is _what_?’

‘And when he does, and is accepted, we shall wish both of them very happy.’ There was a glint of determination in Will’s eyes that Hannibal recognised well. But he, too, was possessed of a stubborn streak...

‘Oh, we shall?’

‘Yes.’ Slender arms stole about Hannibal’s waist, and a warm body pressed close. ‘Because two people who were very much alone have found each other, and that is a good thing.’

It was impossible not to respond, to keep from returning the close embrace. ‘It _can_ be, but mark me - Anthony will have his hands full with that one.’

‘As you have yours full with me, my lord?’ Will's face tipped upwards, eyelashes fluttering in outrageous show. 'How very inconvenient for you.'

‘Brat.’ But Hannibal could not keep the fondness from his voice. 

‘Mm. _Your_ brat.’ 

‘My brat,’ kissing Will’s smooth brow. ‘My little wolf,’ on the red tip of his nose. ‘My husband,’ breathed against lips already parted.

‘My lord,’ murmured Will, in undisguised adoration that sparked in Hannibal a fierce ache of tenderness. ‘I do love you rather awfully, you know.’

He touched the tip of his tongue to Hannibal’s. And just like that, all else was forgotten. Parties and proposals, guests and grand tours. All melted into insignificance against a pale, watercolour landscape. Hannibal gathered Will to him and lost himself in the sweetness of their kiss. A kiss that was a pledge of devotion - a promise of the long life they would share. And, dear reader, they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we leave them, perfectly happy and sassy and living their best life together. :)
> 
> To all of you who have read this work/shown your support in the comments/given kudos, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have been a constant source of encouragement. 
> 
> To the lovely [callmenephilia](https://twitter.com/callmenephila), who brought to life my favourite moment in the fic, I humbly thank you. I owe you awe!
> 
> My next project will be rather different - a Hannigram Twilight AU (no werewolves and only the first novel!). After that, it's back to Austen for a Persuasion AU! If you would like to follow my progress, I'll be giving regular updates [right here on my Twitter page](https://twitter.com/fragile__teacup). 
> 
> Until next time, lovely readers. FANNIBALFAMILYFOREVER!
> 
> Much love, Teacup x


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